


Light of My Life

by trashofficial



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Ben Solo is a hot professor, Daddy Kink, Eventual Smut, F/M, Lolita, Masturbation, Rey's mom is kind of a dip shit, Size Kink, rey is 17 tho and not a literal child, rey is a little minx, she'll be 18 soon!!!, welcome back to my sin train it me ur conductor ready to take us all to HELL
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-11 09:18:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13521219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashofficial/pseuds/trashofficial
Summary: The Solo's and the Kenobi's have been family friends for decades.  The year is 1949 when Leia Organa reaches out to the late Ben Kenobi's daughter, Lydia, to ask a favor, Ben who's just graduated from school with a teaching degree and is in need of lodging while he searches for a job. But instead, he finds the light of his life, Rey.A story based loosely off of Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov.





	1. Chapter 1

The house is quaint, cozy, and most certainly lived in. Though, it’s seen many years of use---built in the early 1900′s and occupied up to this summer day in 1949. There is no shortage of unpaired shoes or feminine clothing strewn about the wooden floors, the furniture has not changed, merely looks more worn and the upholstery's hues look a little less vibrant. Ah yes, it's the old Kenobi home he remembers from his younger years, but not quite the exact same.

 

Then again, what does ever stay the same?  But there is that silly cuckoo clock with intricately carved wooden features hanging from the wall in the living room. The time is four minutes off and it bother's Ben more than it should. But now that it's his home too, it wouldn't be too rude of him to take it upon himself to set it to the correct time.

 

Lydia, the Kenobi's only daughter, leads him through the home, re-introducing Ben to rooms he's seen before and profusely apologizing for the mess, but never making to snatch away the bustier hanging from the stair banister. "It's so difficult to keep a clean house, work, and raise a teenage girl." She giggles. Ben averts his vision and the brunette clad in a floral dress with a wrap around her head continues the tour upstairs where he has never ventured.

 

There are three bedrooms in the household and his is right smack dab between Lydia's and the girl's. It's a cramped space, packed with what Ben thinks to be his predecessor's, old man Ben Kenobi's, things, left to clutter the room and never see the light of day again. Ben's first motion is to lift the blinds and crack the window to air out the dust and scent of OLD.

 

"It's truly an excellent price for what you're getting, Ben. Don't you think?"

 

It's a fair price, he thinks. He'd much rather stay in his childhood home only blocks from here, but since his mother is out of the country caring for her ill mother, Ben's grandmother, and the fact that she went out of her way to ask this of the Kenobi woman as a favor to house her son while he looks for a job in the area, Ben doesn't have much else of a choice. And so, he's smiling at her, ready to take the offer until something better comes along for him. 

 

"Twenty dollars a month is a fair price, Mrs. Kenobi."

 

They settle things in the kitchen area while she makes a fresh pitcher of sweet tea. She may not be a decent cleaner, but Ben does hope she’s got some cooking skills. Because he sure doesn’t. But he thinks if he can learn an entire second language and earn a degree to teach said language, perhaps cooking won’t be too difficult a feat. He'll need to learn to eventually. Either learn to or find a wife that can and is willing.

 

“What language did you say you studied, Ben? Your mother didn’t mention. She only said you’d graduated and were in need of a place to stay.”

 

“French, Mrs. Kenobi. But my major is the English language.” Ben explains, sipping on the chilled beverage. 

 

“Oh, the language of love." The woman croons. Ben gives a stiff nod of his head. " And please, don’t be so formal, Ben. English major or not, you’re to call me Lydia from now on, alright?”

 

Ben nods again and doesn’t speak another word. They are living together, after all.

 

“My Rey should be coming home soon from her friend’s house. She’s taking French in school, you know. Perhaps you’ll both teach me a thing or two.” 

 

The bluntest part of Ben Solo wants to tell the woman that he’s studied the language with the intent to be _payed_ to teach it. If she wants to learn French, she’s going to have to rely on her daughter’s comprehension of the language or pay to take a class at the university....if he can manage to get a job there. 

 

Perhaps it’s simply the heat and the home’s lack of airflow that has him a bit on the moody side. But he’s quite thankful for a place to stay and the cool drink in his hand. He musters a close lipped smile. 

 

“Perhaps.” Ben agrees simply for the sake of being polite. “If you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Kenobi, I’m going to unpack my things.”

 

Lydia opens her mouth to speak, likely to remind him that she's Lydia, but the hulking man is already halfway up the stairs, carried away by his too long legs and desire to take a break from her chattering. But she doesn't need to know that part. 

 

There is a bed beneath everything, pressed against the wall and a tad too tiny for his broad and long body, but a bed nonetheless. And a desk as well. Perfect for his studies. All in all, the room is a lot nicer with a bit of sun and compacting of withered boxes and copious photo albums that are now shoved into the opposite corner of the room. 

 

Ben travels light, only has a small suitcase of clothes as well as one for personal belongings. Including his newest most prized possession; his degree. Ben solo is not a materialistic man. It shoes in the few clothes he has and very little that he’s packed into a second suitcase. His mother, on the other hand, is a hoarder of all things from clothes to school projects of Ben's from his earliest years until high school. The woman is sentimental, but it's not really a trait she passed on to him. 

 

He places a single photo of his family upon the desk and his grandfather’s pocket watch beside it. There is nothing else he needs in this world, nothing else he wants. Well, other than to be employed.

 

_____

 

It’s nearly three hours later when a door slams downstairs, a tremor sent through the home. Ben emerges from his room that he’s since hidden away in, poking his head outside to see who might’ve caused such a ruckus but then---

 

Right. There was Rey, Lydia's only daughter---only child. He’s met her before a handful of times and it isn't that Ben's forgotten the little girl from his past, only that he's not really had much reason to think of her. All he recalls of the young one is the missing teeth in her grin, her posh little accent, and the peculiar three bun hairstyle she fashioned for herself. 

 

However, she isn't a little girl anymore.

 

Not as she’s bounding up the stairs, clad in a white romper that seems to be drenched not in sweat from this hot summer day, but water. She’s likely been splashing around in the fire hydrants or at the community pool like they did when Ben was young--- _younger_. The fabric, thin and nearly transparent, clings to her golden skin as do the loose tendrils of her chestnut locks. Her form is lithe, not that of a woman, but not that of a child, either. Rey's curves are subtle, the swell of her chest only just apparent, and the roundness of otherwise narrow hips slight. Ben’s mouth is dry and oh, what he wouldn’t give for another glass of sweet tea. 

 

He can’t tear his eyes from her, even as she comes to a halt at the top of the staircase, her own optics finding his. Her lips are red, rose petals if Ben has any opinion on what they resemble, tugged at the corners into a tiny grin. Her cheeks are dimpled and they seem to be a feature he’s let fade from his memory. But Christ above, they’re deep and prominent and he’ll never forget them for as long as he lives. 

 

And then there are her eyes, as round as saucers and brighter than the sun, containing shades of green and gold. If she blinks, she’ll surely create a gust of wind with those dark lashes that frame those eyes. Maybe he should’ve become a Literature major instead, for he could go on about her looks until he’s blue in the face from too much thought. She saves him from himself...yet, manages to hand him another challenge.

 

 “Hi,” 

 

A simple greeting and Ben, a fluent speaker of two languages, has forgotten how to reply. His lips part, but no words flow through and he shifts in his awkward half in one room, half in the hall position, fully coming out. Rey tilts her head back farther to keep a hold on his gaze. He must look crazy, looming over her like he is and not saying a word.  

 

Ben is worried when he smile fades and her brow quirks. “What are you staring at?” She asks. He’s taken off guard again not only by the question, but by the defensive tone behind it. 

 

“Nothing. It’s just that you’ve grown since I last saw you.” Ben says finally, his hand lifting to wipe across the back of his neck, collecting sweat on his already clammy hand. “Do you remember me?” 

 

He could cringe because he sounds like his old as dirt aunts and uncles from his mother’s side of the family, telling him they remember when he was _just a little boy no taller than two feet_. God, he hopes she doesn’t think the same. Ben is thankful that he really is of no relation to the Kenobi’s. Nothing more than old family friends. 

 

“A little. You’re Mrs. Leia and Mr. Han’s son. My mum told me you were staying with us. She made me come home so we could all have dinner together.”

 

Rey is casual as she speaks, giving him one last glance over before she’s slipping only a few feet away to her bedroom. “Which I’m not really too excited for.”

 

Ben is taken aback by her brazen words. He doesn’t quite remember her being rude...well, perhaps when she was little and used to climb all over his lanky limbs and tell him his ears were so large he could take flight. But then her expression shifts to surprise and it seems maybe she’s taken aback by her words, too.

 

“Not because I don’t want to have dinner with you---with all of us. It’s just, my mum made brussels sprouts...and she isn’t too great of cook. But don't tell her I told you that.”

 

Rey’s grateful for food on her plate, not picky when it comes to what she’s eating. She’ll eat just about anything under the sun---except for brussels sprouts because they simply taste like death. Those are direct words from her mouth. But to others, her mother isn’t quite a five star chef and Rey just loves to tease her for it. It’s only fair of her to warn him though, she thinks. 

 

“I see...well, I’ll let you change for dinner, Rey.” 

 

Rey opens her lips to speak, to ask why he'd think she'd be changing. Then her eyes flicker down to her wet clothes and she can see the indent of her belly button through the muslin. If she can see that, then what else does he see? Swallowing, cheeks burning, the girl turns on her heels.

 

Her door is slammed just as the downstairs door had been and Ben winces, but collects himself and heads downstairs to at least offer any assistance he can. Though, it seems Lydia has already done all the work from the meal itself to the cutlery to the lit candles that really aren’t necessary because it’s still light out and it’s too hot to add any more sources of heat in the home. 

 

“I take it you ran into Rey on the way down. She’s a mess, that girl!” Lydia sighs, placing filled dishes upon the table top. Ben doesn’t think she’s a mess at all. She’s a teenage girl out to beat the summer heat. And if he were bold, he’d say she looked lovely in that wet romper. But he’s a gentleman and has some self restraint and respect for a young lady over ten years younger than himself. 

 

“I hope you like brussles sprouts, Ben.”

 

“They’re to die for.” Rey’s dulcet voice, dripping with sarcasm the same way her hair drips with water, comes from behind him. Rey has changed into what looks to be her night clothes, a small pair of shorts and a tank top covered in polka dots.

 

“Reynada Kenobi! Sit down. You’re getting an extra helping and you will eat all of them.” Her mother reprimands. 

 

Ben feels quite out of place between the mother and daughter and he hopes that their bickering isn’t something that happens often. Still, he seats himself across from the both of them, watching the two women...the one woman and her girl. He wonders just how old Rey is anyhow. 

 

“I’m seventeen years old, mother. You can’t force me to eat vegetables.” 

 

As if she read his mind, he gets his answer. And much to his dismay, she is just a girl. Not quite as young as the girl from his past, but still eleven years his junior. Ben clears his throat and reaches for the glass of water sat before him. 

 

“You’re seventeen years old and I am still in charge of you, young lady. Eat."

 

Dramatic is how to describe the sigh that falls from between Rey's lips, her body curling into the chair, bare legs scrunched against her chest. She picks at her food, stabbing away at the brussles sprout as if it's done her wrong. Ben's attention is only taken once he hears his name. 

 

“So, Ben, tell Rey and I about your studies abroad. Both of my parents were from overseas but we never did get around to visiting.”

 

“I think he can tell from our accents, mum. We don’t sound like most people from around here.” Rey snorts and Ben finds her sass amusing, her quick remarks reminding him of his own father. 

 

Even if he doesn’t really have too many good memories, Ben always found it funny when his father would get a rise out of his mother---and then get chided by the tiny woman who is more than a foot smaller than him. 

 

“I studied at the University of Cambridge. The area is lively, beautifully kept grounds, incredible professors.” 

 

He’s not really one for small talk and it’s ironic considering what he’s studies and intends to teach to others. Though,it’s say that if you can’t do, teach. 

 

“The University of Cambridge! Well, Ben, that is very impressive. Have you traveled at all? I know you said you speak French. Have you been to the native land?”

 

“I---”

 

“I speak French, too!” Rey interrupts, earning a stern look from her mother. It goes completely unnoticed and Ben can’t help but face all of his attentions on her. 

 

“Savez-vous?“ Ben asks. He’ll be impressed if she knows what he’s saying. 

 

Her face contorts and her lips pout. They’re still red and it looks like she’s taking a moment to think of what he might be saying...or a reply to what he’s saying. Even though it’s a simple question. But her tongue pokes out from between her lips and it’s equally as red. She must’ve been enjoying a popcicle not too long ago. Ben’s throat tightens and he can't force himself to look down at his still full plate or to even take a bite of a sprout. 

 

“Okay, maybe I don’t speak as fluently as you, but I’m learning.” Rey defends. Ben offers her a gentle smile in return. 

 

“Je m'appelle Ben. Tu t’appelle comment?"

 

Rey beams at this, sitting up just a bit straighter in her chair. “Je m’appelle Rey!”

 

Ben returns her grin with one of his own, oddly proud that she replied despite how simple this is for him. He supposes that’s what it’ll be like once he starts teaching, seeing the progress of his students and being able to take at least a little credit for it. 

 

“Good...good, Rey.” 

 

_____

 

Dinner ends on a positive note. The ladies have quit their bickering. For tonight, at least. Now he just has to sit through desert. An apple pie, that both Rey and Ben know is store bought, is placed on the table immediately following their dinner, and a scoop of ice cream on top. It doesn’t hinder Rey from digging in. Store bought is preferred, anyway. 

 

Dark orbs follow Rey’s movements, watching as she scarfs down the slice of pie. He’s left to wonder how the ice cream isn’t making her brain freeze but that idea is quickly shoved aside when her little fingers reach to wipe away the white cream from her lips, popping them between to lick away the sticky substance. Rey closes her eyes when she sucks upon her fingertips, giving great care to each one to ensure that nothing is left on them. 

 

Even though he's got a glob of ice cream in his mouth, Ben feels warm. It's so wrong to watch an innocent girl cleaning herself up and letting his mind wander to far less appropriate thoughts of that tongue and those fingers. Luckily for him, nothing terrible specific has popped into his head. But he's trying so hard not to think anything of the action.

 

When those round optics flit open, they’re on him and his are on her. She sends him a smirk, humming to herself, and his own lips part, jaw slack. For his own sake, Ben has to look away. He stands from his seat, taking his nearly finished pie to the counter where he takes the last bite and places his dish in the sink. He really should offer to help clean but not only is he tired from his travels, and his clothes feel oddly constricting. 

 

Rey seems to have the same idea---to bring her dish to the sink, that is. Because she’s brushing at his side, the ceramic clanking as it’s placed atop his. He doesn’t move, only waits for her to slip past. Which, thankfully, she does. 

 

“Thanks, mum! Goodnight, Mr. Solo!” She calls, jogging her body back upstairs.

 

"Good night." He mumbles to himself and he's sure Rey doesn't hear it. 

 

Ben’s surprised he doesn’t hear the door slam again and hopeful that maybe she’s kept it open a bit---NO. 

 

 

No, he’s going to shut his door for the evening. Shut out Lydia, shut out Rey. He needs a good night’s sleep. 

 

Although, Ben finds this goal difficult to reach when he’s faced with a time difference and the notion that Rey is just down the hall and he can’t stop remembering the barely there romper that clung to her skin the same way sweat clings to his. He kicks off his blanket and shrugs the sleep shirt from his body. But it does little to rid him of the heat that pools inside of him.

 

Ben has a strong feeling that this is going to be a very hot, almost unbearable, summer. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey reflects on the past two weeks she's shared a home with Ben. She also cringes at her mom and her terrible flirting skills. Ben and Rey get a little cozy backyard. Until mom comes in to cockblock. (As she should! Rey is only 17!!!)

He isn’t exactly a dream boat. Not the typical dream boat, anyway. But Rey knows he isn’t hideous, either.  His lips are full, pink, always pouting and practically begging to be kissed and his face is long, angular. His nose is strong but his eyes are soft and warm. No, he’s not ugly. He’s quite nice to look at, actually. Especially in the morning when she’s already been up since before the sun and he’s just slipping out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel around his waist and water clinging to his porcelain skin. 

 

It’s been two weeks and she’s made it a daily routine to sneak a peak as he passes down the tiny hallway and back into his bedroom where he likely, DEFINITELY, pulls the towel from around him and dries off his naked body. The thought makes Rey jolt, her heart stutter. She’s well into her teens and doesn’t think too much about boys or sex even though she knows about both. Well, she knows the technicalities of both but not quite how to go about either. 

 

All Rey knows is that Mr. Solo is not a boy. He’s a man. And maybe she’s better off graduating to men instead of wasting her time with boys. It’s a discussion that she and Jessika have had many a time. Especially now that she’s got a man living in her home that isn’t her father or step father or anyone she couldn’t theoretically be with once she’s old enough.

 

Jessika turns 18 before Rey does and swears she’s going to take a crack at him because she's experienced love at first sight since meeting him briefly when Rey dragged her out the front door and down the sidewalk. But Rey nudges her in her ribs and tells her to _get fucked_. Jessika says she’ll try to. 

 

Mr. Solo is massive and it doesn’t go unnoticed to Rey OR her mother. How could it? He’s built like a house much stronger than this one, broad, tall, and muscular, his body dusted in freckles just like Rey's. Lydia gazes, stares, really. And Rey thinks that Ben is on to her. Her mother, that is. Rey doesn’t let herself be so conspicuous, so painfully obvious.

 

Ever since Rey’s father left the two of them, her mother’s made it abundantly clear that she’s in search of a new husband, a new father for Rey. But Rey’s gone nearly half her life without one. What’s she need one now for at 17? Lydia’s desires are purely selfish. But Rey supposes she’s just lonely and the loneliness she feels isn’t a void Rey can fill on her own even if she wishes she could. 

 

Though, it doesn’t derail from the fact that her mother is literally always making eyes at Mr. Solo and projecting unspoken feelings at him from the way she bends over when pulling a pot roast from the oven or when she's freshly taken the curlers from her hair and bounces around the house like a God damned showdog. The poor guy with his pale complexion is always going red in the face each time Lydia Kenobi makes a brazen remark or poorly executed innuendo. She’s ten years his senior and Rey never wants to bring her mother down, but she wishes she could see just how uncomfortable Mr. Solo is every time she’s near and opening that red painted mouth of hers. 

 

Then again, Ben is a grown man. He could tell her to shove it, couldn’t he? In a more polite way, of course. They’re roommates and she’s been so kind to let him stay in her home even if he is paying rent. Perhaps Rey’s overestimated him. Perhaps he doesn’t know her mother is trying to make him her next husband and Rey’s new daddy. Or maybe playing dumb is just his way of enduring it. 

 

It gets Rey thinking; Does Ben Solo, University of Cambridge graduate, really not now when someone is flirting? Because how could someone intelligent like him possible be so oblivious? The man isn’t dumb. And then Rey gets an idea that really isn’t the smartest.

 

_____

 

There is a swing hung from the porch in the backyard. An old thing hanging from chains, the wood worn and white paint chipping to reveal the light hue of the wood before its transformation. Ben sits upon it, a book that’s quite large dwarfed by his hands, his thick reading glasses magnifying his eyes. Rey can see his lashes as she approaches from the backdoor and can’t believe how impossibly long they are for a man’s. 

 

“I brought you some tea to cool you off.” Rey announces, placing the glass on the table beside him and taking up a small portion of the swing to his left. There is little space between them, a curious Rey leaning close to see just what it is that’s got him so entranced that not even the heat can keep him from enjoying his book. That and it’s only just the start of a little plan she’s formulated while staring at her ceiling until she falls asleep for the past six nights.

 

“T-thank you,” He stumbles over the word, very much aware of just how close the young girl is, how her body is slightly facing his more so than than forward. 

 

But this is very much FORWARD. Especially when her bare painted toes brush against his calf. He’s thankful to be covered in a pair of khaki slacks that act as a barrier for their skin. But he cannot say the same when her dainty fingers are reaching up, brushing alongside his to touch the book’s yellowed pages. 

 

“What are you reading?” 

 

“Oh, well,” He briefly flips the cover over so that she can see the title, thick fingers keeping the page marked. “It’s called The Scarlet Letter. It’s about---”

 

She’s so good at cutting him off and he can’t even bring himself to care. “It’s about a girl who has to wear a red letter, right? Because she had a baby and somehow that was enough to brand her as a...” Rey ducks her head, “a whore.” she continues in a whisper. 

 

Ben releases a breathless chuckle at her description. “It’s a little more than that. But yes, you’re on the correct track.”

 

Rey grins, happy to have answered correctly. “I don’t think red is a whore-ish color. Do you, Mr. Solo?” Rey asks. 

 

The toes that brushed against his calf are lifted, painted a brilliant shade of vermilion. Ben thinks the color is lovely against her skin and even more lovely on her lips. The memory hasn’t faded from two weeks prior when he'd first seen her in years atop the stairs. But he’s torn from thought when her lithe leg crosses the other to rests atop his lap, tiny toes flexing as she awaits an answer. 

 

Her skin looks so smooth, tanned and freckled by the sun. The fingers that hold his book, clutch so harshly that he could leave marks, just wish to run calloused tips along the expanse of her leg and beneath the arch of her foot. He swallows thickly. 

 

“Hmm?” She’s coaxing softly for an answer. 

 

“No. No not at all, Rey. I think red looks very nice on you.” 

 

That wasn’t the question. But he gave her the answer she didn’t know she wanted. Rey smiles. 

 

“Thank you, Mr. Solo. That’s sweet of you to say.”

 

Ben makes to open his mouth to reply. Though, he doesn’t know what exactly he’s going to say. And he certainly isn’t thankful when Lydia comes bustling out, her shrill voice taking away the sweet lingering of words between he and Rey. 

 

“Reynada, will you quit lounging all over Ben? It’s hot enough as it is.” 

 

Rey is shaken by her mother’s abrupt appearance, her body practically seizing before swiftly adjusting beside him. Lydia takes the remainder of the space on the other side of Rey, her sunhat on and glasses covering her eyes. Maybe she’s caught on to Ben...maybe the glasses aren’t to protect her from the sun, but to stare without being caught. Even though everyone in this household knows she’s staring. 

 

Ben grunts softly at Rey’s side as she moves, the heel of her foot brushing against his cock that's hidden beneath his pants. Rey hardly notices and Ben simply places his book atop his lap to conceal anything that may appear, and Rey  is scooting herself even closer to him. Her feet barely brush the ground, but her thigh is squished against Ben’s. Rey can’t help but feel as thought she’s been caught. But nothing’s happened. Even so, they’re close and she can’t help but brush her fingers against his knee as they come to rest on her own leg. 

 

He reciprocates and Rey’s heart nearly skips two beats in a row, the tips just barely grazing her bare thigh whether it's intentional or not. Though, when she looks up, he’s staring straight out into the lush green of the yard and she can't really tell if he meant to touch her. 

 

“What’s that you’re reading, Ben?”

 

Ben shifts his attention, lifting the book in question from his lap once he's sure that the gentle touch of Rey's foot isn't having an effect on him. He won't get a hard-on from a light graze...even though it's tempting. Lydia takes hold of the book, skimming through and losing his page. He doesn’t curse, but reminds himself to dogtag the pages...or keep his books out of her hands. 

 

“I’ve never read it. It’s about a _slut_ , right? She wears red because she’s a little _harlot_.” 

 

She is not seething, the woman not showing hatred of those more sexual than herself, but rather it’s low and husky and quite frankly, making Rey incredibly uncomfortable. Consider too that she’s wearing red lipstick. 

 

“Something like that, mum.” Rey mumbles before standing up, reluctant to do so. But she won’t sit between her mother and Mr. Solo while she’s trying to dirty talk him into being enticed. 

 

“Yes... _Lydia_. Something like that.” He agrees. And Rey grins all the way into the kitchen.

 

_____ 

 

It’s three days later, hours after dinner and desert are finished, that Ben is sitting at his desk with an old lamp dimly illuminating the room as he reads through paperwork that needs filling out. He really should have done it days ago, but there have been far too many distractions. It’s just like his father told him; women are distractions. But that’s really the only part of his words that Ben held onto while away in school because the other half of them were spent saying how much he enjoyed being distraught by said women. 

 

And like clockwork, there is a knock on his door. He glances to the pocket watch that ticks atop his desk. It’s nearly midnight. Ben glances to the door, brow furrowed even though he knows it could only be one of two people.

 

“Can I come in?”

 

It’s Rey and he’s absolutely relieved and pleasantly surprised that the young one is here to pay him a visit. For what, however, he isn’t sure. Ben straightens in his chair, bidding her forward with a nod of his head. 

 

“Yes, come in sweetheart.” 

 

The name slips so easily from his lips, as if it’s natural to call her the pet name. It’s so fitting. The way she’s standing in the frame of his door, hair tossed atop her head in not one bun but three, tresses falling loose and framing her angelic face. Don’t even get him started on how ridiculously adorable she looks with one sock lifted over her slim calf and the other dipping below her ankle. 

 

She’s a vision even if the light isn’t the best. But Ben already knows how pretty Rey is and it pains him to think so freely of her when he knows it's wrong. Rey, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to be too phased by the nickname. As she’s shuffling across the wooden floor toward him to lessen the space.

 

“Why are you up at this hour?” 

 

“Couldn’t sleep.” Rey explains shortly. “What about you?”

 

He could scoff, but he doesn’t. He merely removes the glasses from the bridge of his nose and replaces them with his pointer finger and thumb, briefly pressing. 

 

“I was trying to get some paperwork filled out. But I can’t seem to focus.”

 

_Because of you, because of your silly mother, but mostly because of you._

 

Those words are kept in the confines of his mind.

 

“Oh...why can’t you focus?” 

 

That answer would be perfect if it weren’t so revealing and inappropriate. He still needs something to say. 

 

“Who really knows?” He shrugs. 

 

Rey smiles at that for some reason and decides to move closer, running her fingers along the newly dusted desk. 

 

“I used to come in here before you moved in. I liked this room.”

 

Ben shifts in his chair. Of course he’d been so dense as to forget that he was intruding in on the life of more than just Lydia. He knew Rey was living there, but never really stopped to think that she was LIVING there. 

 

“I’m sorry to have taken over.”

 

“It’s okay. I just liked to look at the pictures. I can do that anywhere, though.” Rey shrugs.

 

Ben doesn’t stop her when she’s sliding up to sit atop the desk, right on the corner just where he’s inclined, where he’s closest too. And all he sees are those beautiful bare legs again, the same legs he yearned to touch, yearns to still. The gentle brush of his fingertips over her knee simply wasn’t enough and he's stupid to think that it would be. But he didn't have any other choice but to be subtle about it. 

 

“Mr. Solo?” She asks after a moment. 

 

“Hm?”

 

“You never did tell me or my mum if you’ve been to France before.”

 

Ben smiles gently and reclines into the worn chair, its creaking of little concern to whether or not the chair will break on him. This topic was brought up over two weeks ago and Ben’s mind gets to wondering about what else Rey’s been thinking of. 

 

“I have been. My class and I took a visit a few summers back after completing the course so we could test out our skills with the locals.”

 

It'd been an incredible trip. Ben recalls celebrating with the small class of ten. After an evening of drinking all sorts of alcohol, Ben finished off the night with Celine. Well, in her mouth, at least. She'd been so eager to suck him off in the hotel room and Ben simply couldn't say no. He'll never admit that his father's advice flashed through his mind and inspired the decision. And it isn't a decision Ben makes often. In fact, she was the first woman to put her mouth on him. Now thinking it over, however, the memory isn't giving him the same effect. 

 

“And just how good are your skills, Mr. Solo?” Rey quips, a playful simper pulling at those lips of hers. 

 

She’s a little devil, she is. Her wording is intentional, he can see it in her eyes. And Ben wants to let her be the judge of any skills he may possess. But he’s going to answer in regards to his French. 

 

“My skills are good enough that I’m able to _teach_ French.”

 

“Could you teach me?”

 

“I thought you were taking a French course in school.”

 

“It’s summer now...and I want to learn  _more_.” 

 

Ben nods, lips pursed. Her reasoning is fair enough.

 

Rey is leaning forward, so unladylike in the way her thighs are parted. A piece of Ben wishes they were crossed. And a larger piece is begging him not to pry them open farther and speak tongues against her inner thighs all the way to her cunt, to leave her a babbling mess, to send her back to her room soaking wet in those little shorts that were leaving far less to his imagination. It seems to run wild at night. 

 

 _Oh, sweet girl, I could teach you so much._  

 

It’s an entirely different approach to thinking when Rey asks him to teach her than it was when Lydia asked for pointers. 

 

“I’ll teach you something new each day until you go back to school. Then you can impress your teacher and classmates with what you know.” 

 

Rey seems to be appeased by this. 

 

“Tell me something tonight, then. Please?”

 

Her lips are only slightly pouted, but it’s just enough for Ben to notice and he can’t bring himself to say no. Instead, he’s taking her hand in his own. Rey is letting him, watching with curious eyes, excited eyes.

 

“Bonne nuit, douce fille.” 

 

His voice is like honey, the accent flawless even though Rey’s only heard her French teacher speak fluent French. Rey doesn’t know what he’s said, but she could do to hear it again and again. 

 

“What did you say? I only understood the word _good_.”

 

“I said _good night, sweet girl_. Now, get to bed. It’s late.”

 

She obeys him, hand still placed inside of his. Rey doesn’t want to let go and Ben doesn’t really want her to leave but she should and so, there she is, standing in front of him as if waiting for something more. 

 

Without really thinking or seeing immediate harm in it, he’s lifting her hand to his plush lips. They’re warm and Rey is in disbelief when he’s kissing her knuckles so gently. It’s over all too fast, though. 

 

And while his lips are moving to speak, 

 

“Go on, Rey.” 

 

His eyes are telling her otherwise. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to keep on writing because why not??? I have the muse to! Let me know what you think. Idk how much longer I'll be able to keep these to from one another. But the subtle things are helping for sure (:


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see a little more into Lydia and who she is and what Rey goes through with her. Ben is job hunting and manages to find something to hold him over for the Summer. He and Rey take a little trip to the grocery store.

Rey did go back to her room that night a week prior, her knuckles burning from this gentle kiss he bestowed upon her and her mind a boggled mess to match her nerves. Rey has played the childish games, has had kisses pressed to her cheeks and lips by boys her own age. But they’re slobbery and unsure. and the only slobbery kiss she'd ever accept willingly is from a dog. And for a girl who’s just coming into her womanhood, she needs some guidance, dammit! Someone to show her the way. If she plays a different game, plays her cards right, maybe, eventually, Mr. Solo could be that guiding light. 

 

Rey even told Jessika her hopes. And Jessika agreed that he could guide her right into his bed. 

 

She doesn’t remember falling asleep that night, either. But somehow, she awoke on her stomach with drool on her pillow. It had to have been the best sleep she’s gotten in a while and she isn’t sure how that can be when she went to bed as flustered as Mr. Jenkins next door when her mother accidentally flashed him a view right up her skirt while reaching for a piece of mail that slipped from her fingers. The wind was not on her side that day.

 

For the most part, he life is simple. Not having a reason that her sleep is off. No stress, really. 

 

Other than taxes which just really get her going. And the occasional drunken mess that is her mother. But only when she’s got extra money left over to buy herself that bottle of red wine she likes so much. Which seems to be more often than not these days. The woman is a lightweight. It doesn’t take too much to get her tipsy and slurring. And one would think she'd learn her lesson. Not even a scholar, an absolute genius, could make Lydia Kenobi learn.

 

It’s evenings like this, when she’s sat beside her weeping mother, her head practically laying in the toilet bowl, that she really misses her grandparents. They kept Lydia in line, away from Rey when she was like this. But most importantly, she drank much less when they were alive. Satine and Ben Kenobi were not like this. They were kind people, level headed, and good. Lydia, for some reason, strayed from being a product of her upbringing.

 

Eventually, however, Rey realized what was going on at too young an age. All women seem to be able to find out the truth somehow. And Rey isn’t sure if she wishes that she could go back to being ignorant to this harsh reality of having an alcoholic mother who drinks until she’s ill all because she doesn’t have another way to cope with her problems or just dealing with this head on. Rey supposes that she really doesn't have much of a choice. The world doesn't work like that. 

 

Still, she holds her matted brown locks that are identical to Rey’s and tries to drown out the sound of her vomiting and crying with thoughts of her pillow or tomorrow morning when it’s a fresh new day. 

 

Mr. Solo has shut his door tonight. Shut it tight and probably locked it, too. Also probably has pillows over his head even though it’s 200 degrees because really, who wants to hear their landlord crying and tossing her cookies at all hours of the night? 

 

Rey wonders what he thinks. Thinks of her, thinks of her mother, thinks of them together. Rey sees it in his face when they bicker that he’s utterly uncomfortable. He’s too polite to get in between a mother and her daughter. It’s smart of him, actually. 

 

But is that not exactly what’s happening? They’re all blind to it. To the fact that a triangle has been formed with Rey and her mother at two points and Ben on the third. Lydia pines for Ben, tries so very hard from the way she dresses and applies her makeup to the way she ogles at him and neatly folds away what few clothes he has, placing them upon the bed she’s made for him even though he insists he’s capable of doing those things himself. 

 

Little does Lydia know, he thinks she’s like his mother in that sense which might knock her down a few pegs if he mentioned the similarities. He doesn’t because then he thinks of all the times she’s flirted with him and tried to slip her hand upon his thigh and he feels sick comparing her to his mother.

 

And Rey, she likes Mr. Solo, the attention he gives her. Like she isn’t a stupid child and someone who is worthy of and capable of having a conversation with. Lydia thinks he’s indulging Rey for the sake of being kind. 

 

“Getting in some practice interacting with young people before you begin teaching them, Ben?” Lydia once said, taking a dig whether it’s intended or not. 

 

When in reality, he’s indulging Lydia because he’s living in her home for a cheap price and she puts food on his plate. As for Rey, well, she’s enticing. An interesting girl with a captivating personality and an even more incredible smile. 

 

But as Ben breathes shallowly into his pillow to drown out the whimpers of Lydia coming from the bathroom a room over, he just knows Rey isn’t smiling. And he also knows she is so undeserving of this.

 

_____

 

Ben is up early the next morning, the paper in on hand and a fresh cup of black coffee in the other. He’s taken it upon himself to brew the pot and to fry up some bacon and eggs that he managed to find in the ice box as well. He’s not that simple. Leia Organa might be a woman of business with a work ethic to strike down all others, but the woman knew how to cook and even taught Ben a thing or two just to get by with.

 

Dark hues are searching through the job section on this beautiful Tuesday morning nearing the end of June. School begins in two month’s time and Ben has yet to find anything. Money he’s saved is not dwindling quickly, but his reason for staying here is so that he’ll find a job and be able to move into a place of his own. This was never meant to be permanent. Even if the girl, who Ben thinks is still sleeping upstairs because she’s had a long night, makes him want to stay for a while longer. 

 

An ad in the paper for a tutor strikes his attention. A foreign family from Germany have just moved in and they’re looking for someone to tutor their twin children, Edith and Edward, both eleven, in English to prepare them before the school year begins. 

 

He considers this. Considers the price. The family must come from money because they’re offering quite a bit more than maybe Ben would have asked for. The only drawback is that they’re children. Ben isn’t too good with kids, was aiming to teach college level or maybe, just maybe, high school.

 

Ben sighs into his coffee before setting the paper down and tearing the ad from it, leaving a giant gap that leads straight to the comic section. Rey will want those for later. He’s made a note, upon Rey’s request as she brushed up beside him and invaded his space to reach for the paper, to set them aside for her. Not so that she does’t have an excuse to be so near to him, but because he knows she’ll find another way to get close. And he'll welcome it all the same. 

 

His next move for today is to give the Schneider family on Old Welsh Road just a few miles South from his location, a call. They pick up on the third ring and the father's accent is heavy, but nothing he can’t decipher with his finger shoved into the opposite ear as to hear a little better. 

 

“Yes---yes, sir. I will bring my identification as well.”

 

As if it isn’t difficult to understand as is, he’s got Rey bouncing into the kitchen and stealing majority of his attention. The man rambles on and Ben’s brow is quirked as she hops onto the counter at his side, feet swinging. He’s partially turned away, partially trying to soak in the way she looks. Still so vibrant even after last night. She steals a piece of bacon from Ben's plate, popping it between her lips. On the stove lie two pans with more food within them. Though, if that isn't enough for her, he'd gladly make her more. Even if the way she's licking grease from her fingers, the way she had licked cream from them before, is all too distracting and leaving his mouth in a strange limbo between dry and watering.

 

All the while, Rey is looking to him for answers to questions she’s not yet asked, leaning forward as if to eavesdrop. She can’t understand a thing that’s being said on the opposite line, like a band of cats are meowing all at once. Though, octaves deeper than that of a cat. 

 

“That’s perfect---three this afternoon, then. Good speaking with you. ”

 

He’s not even hung up the phone and she’s already speaking. 

 

“Was it the government? Are they after you?” 

 

Like most things she says to him, he’s taken aback by her words. And well, confused, too. Ben sputters.

 

“Wh-what? No. Why would you think that?”

 

The man’s done nothing wrong in his life. Well, nothing warranting the government to come after him. He’s a law abiding citizen, never really causing too much of an uproar. Even if one of his greatest temptations is sat before him in a yellow floral two piece outfit, her hair braided down her back, and the gold especially noticeable in her eyes today. 

 

She shrugs, legs still swinging and creating more airflow than the measly fans they’ve got running throughout the home. “You said you were going to bring you identification with you. And you seemed nervous.” 

 

_Because you make me nervous._

 

Which is true and he wishes it weren’t, but it fills his stomach with butterflies that he hasn’t felt since he was a child. Most off the time, it’s himself and Rey combined into a cocktail of nerves, nerves that lead him to want to do things he shouldn’t. He tries too hard to resist her because she’s so young and he’s the adult. He knows it would be so wrong of him to attempt anything more than a friendship while she’s still under the age of consent. 

 

“Hey, what cures a hangover?”

 

The subject is changed before he has a chance to offer her an answer he didn’t have. He’s grateful for her ever wandering mind. 

 

“Well, there is ginger. Ginger ale. Crackers. Medicine to take the edge off of a headache.”

 

Rey is asking for her mother who is still upstairs after her long night. 

 

“It sounds like you’ve had to nurse a few hangovers in your day, Mr. Solo.”

 

 _In his day?_  

 

“I’m not that old nor have I had that many hangovers. In my day...please.”  He scoffs at the grinning girl. 

 

“What about hair of the dog?”

 

Ben quirks a brow.  

 

“Where did you learn an expression like that?”

 

“I’m not as daft as people may think, Mr. Solo.”

 

Who could possibly think Rey to be daft? He'd fight them on it if he had to. “I’ve not once ever thought you were daft, Rey. You’re brilliant.”

 

“Merci beaucoup, Monsieur Solo.”

 

 _Oh_ , she looks far too proud of herself for that one and it even has Ben beaming because she learned that from him about a week ago and it’s stuck. 

 

“I’ve got to run to the grocery store. Do you need anything before you’re taken by the government?”

 

Rey asks, teasing him as she hops from the counter, landing on the floor in her little white sandals that contain the tan skin of her little feet. 

 

“Why don’t I come with you? I’ll spend my last hours as a free man perusing the aisles.”

 

And so, they head for Lydia’s car that once belonged to Ben Kenobi, a Delahaye 135 in candy apple RED. A car fit for a whore, _obviously_. The thought has Rey stifling a laugh that burns in her throat but Ben

doesn’t seem to notice as they’re slipping into the front seats. 

 

The store isn’t far, just a few minutes up the road. Town is quite busy today, a movie just letting out. Although, Rey can’t see what’s playing at the local theater because the text is just too small and the car is passing too quickly. She decides that she’d like to see a film with Ben. Maybe not a romance. Something comedic. Because he doesn’t smile as often as one should. But when he does, her chest aches in the best way possible. 

 

“How is your mother, anyway?”

 

“She’s hungover. I’m not sure what that’s like myself, but judging from last night, it doesn’t look like a whole lot of fun...but she seems to be doing better than before.”

 

Lydia would have a field day if she knew Ben asked about her. It might even be enough to cure her hangover all together. What a miracle that’d be. 

 

_____

 

Then they find themselves in search of both ginger and ginger ale, Rey skating across the tile floor upon a cart that she’s actually quite good at maneuvering through the people and produce. Ben is on her tail and happy he doesn’t have to apologize for her running into anyone. 

 

If it were anyone else or anyone else’s child, he’d complain, not wanting to be a victim of a shopping cart heal attack. He’s been there before and it might just be about as unpleasant as a hangover. Ben remains by her side not because he's afraid she's going to rear-end him, but because he simply likes to be beside her. Countless times he's been to this store, sitting in that very cart and grabbing at everything on the shelves with his mother cleaning up his mess in her wake. But now, Ben can't help but think that they look like a couple to any who pass. It's never really been a fantasy of his---strolling around in the grocery store with his wife. Rey isn't his wife, nor is this a fantasy. And he pushes any idea of it from his head. It does soothe him, however, to know that Rey looks a bit older than 17 and Ben looks far too young with his shaved face to be considered her father.

Even if it seems, at times, that Lydia wants him to be. 

 

“So...where are you really going at three?”

 

She kicks off only slightly, his long legs easily keeping up with the roll of the cart. Especially considering that one of the wheels seems to only want to cooperate every so often. 

 

“I’ve got something of an interview. It’s at a home not too far from here. They’re looking for someone to tutor their children in the English language.”

 

“Children?" Rey pauses in front of numerous boxes of pasta in all shapes and sizes.

 

Maybe they should have pasta for dinner tonight. He doesn't suspect, or really even EXPECT, that Lydia will make dinner. 

 

"You don’t strike me as the nurturing type, Mr. Solo. Will you be able to handle them?” She continues. And it seems they're on the same wavelength because she's grabbing a box of Rigatoni and tossing it beside the bagged ginger and bottle of pop. 

 

“They aren’t hiring me to nanny them, Rey.”

 

It isn’t that Ben can’t handle children. It’s that he doesn’t really know how. He grew up an only child and most of the people he was surrounded by were adults. And by the time he met Rey, he was already in his teens. 

 

“I know that.” She says with a roll of her green hues. “But being a teacher to children does make you sort of a nurturer. You’re nurturing their minds, right?”

 

Rey is absolutely right and he doesn’t fight it. These kids are going to broaden their knowledge of the English language with Ben’s help and it’s really not too dissimilar from learning to use the bathroom. Of course, the obvious differences are there. Language is as basic as the bathroom. 

 

“Have I mentioned that you’re brilliant, Rey?” 

 

Those flowery lips of hers are blossoming and she tosses Ben a look over her shoulder as she slides off down the aisle. 

 

“You might’ve told me it a time or two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a third chapter for y'all! I'm plowing through these quicker and easier than I thought I would. So I'm going to keep writing and updating until I just can't anymore. As always, feedback is appreciated and inspiring! Let me know if there's anything you guys want to see from this story or maybe something else once it's finished (which I literally have no idea when that will be lol!) <333


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the Fourth of July and the squad has a little get together!

“Do you think that the tree would catch fire if we held it up to the leaves?”

 

The peculiar query is asked on the Fourth of July by Jessika Pava while she and Rey lay in the cool grass shaded by a willow tree whose billowing branches reach low and its leaves nearly tickle their noses. They hold sparklers in their hands, lit up and crackling away even though it’s broad daylight. They’ve used nearly the entire package because those twenty seconds or so are just really amusing. Or these girls are simply easily amused. 

 

Rey turns her head to face Jess, ear pressed into the ground and eye squinted shut because a ray of sun seems to have slipped through the trees to shine right into that particular part of her face. The expression she wears is not quite incredulous, but Rey is certainly silently asking herself why the girl would ask such a stupid question.

 

“Do you think the heat is causing your brain cells to fry?”

 

Jessika snorts, dropping the used sparkler to the ground. Rey is thankful it’s out. Otherwise, Jess’s brain cells won’t be the only thing that are fried.

 

“Do you think if I tickled you, you’d pee yourself like you did in ninth grade behind the soda shop?”

 

Rey groans because she remembers that day and she also remembers how uncomfortable it was to walk home with a large wet stain in her pants. Even more so when she got looks on the street and then had to explain her little accident to her mother. She was not pleased. But really, Rey wasn’t too pleased either.

 

“You  _wouldn’t_.”

 

But she will and she is. The raven haired beauty is tackling Rey into the grass and Rey knows that she’s going to get reprimanded for grass stains. And well, if she pees herself, she might as well just have Jess set her to flame with a sparkler. She'd never hear the end of it and Mr. Solo will DEFINITELY think she's a child if she pisses herself like one!

 

Her fingers work into her rig cage, just as potent on clothed skin as they are on bare and Rey thinks she might be having flashbacks to that day years ago. Still, she’s laughing all the while because for some reason, laughing is the natural response to this cruel act. 

 

“You called me dumb!”

 

Some hybrid mix of a cackle and a wheeze releases itself from the girl, her body wiggling and writhing under Jess’s unforgiving fingers. Rey is strong, but this is draining her of any power she could have over Jess. 

 

“I didn’t call you dumb! I asked if you thought the heat was frying your brain cells!”

 

“Well, you might as well have called me dumb!”

 

“Did-did you ever stop to think that if I do pee, that it might get on you?”

 

NOW she decides to stop and think. Rey jolts upward when she finishes, abdomen tight and so sore she doesn’t think she’ll ever have to exercise again. Jess falls back into the grass. 

 

“If you peed on me,” Jess begins, breathless and Rey doesn’t know why because she’s not the one who was being tickled to death, “then you’d have made your mark on me. you wouldn’t have any other choice than to be friends with me forever. we’d be like blood brothers but with urine.” 

 

Rey is laughing again, nudging her foot into some part of Jess’s upper body.

 

"You're the fire hydrant to my dog."

 

_____

 

From across the lawn, Ben is watching the two girls, a cold class of lemonade in his hand as Mr. Pava chats his left ear off about grilling and how mean of a burger he makes. And Ben can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing because of the amount of smoke pouring from the grill. But it hardly phases him as he listens to the sound of Rey’s laugh, noting that he’s never quite seen her so happy.  Of course, he prides himself in the tiny giggles and grins he gets out of her or that she manages to get out of herself. There is just something so sweet about her laughter that has him a bit distraught. Well, among other things. 

 

Like the little two piece outfit she's wearing, a light yellow that compliments her skin tone. Rey seems to have a lot of those outfits in her wardrobe. And Ben can't say that he minds.

 

Inside of the Pava residence are Mrs. Pava and Lydia who are whipping up some sort of desert that Ben will be hesitant to try when the time comes. The last he saw of Lydia, she was sipping on a glass of white wine but he has a feeling she started her bender a bit earlier on in the day because she threw herself onto his arm, which isn't really that out of the ordinary, (her breath tipped him off) and insisted he come to this annual Fourth of July party that he’s found out from Mr. Pava just began this year. 

 

Still, he’s happy to be here. He hasn’t really gotten to celebrate Independence Day in years considering he’s been studying in the land America separated itself from. Needless to say, a celebration while on their land wouldn’t have been too appropriate. 

 

More smoke blows into Ben’s face. He winces, hand raising to push it away. Mr. Pava continues on grilling like he’s not cremating their food. He offers his assistance which is swiftly turned now. The man won’t even let him near his damn spatula. At this rate, they’ll be chowing down on ashes. But Ben suppose he’s going to find out soon enough just how great a grill master Mr. Pava is as they’re all heading for the picnic table on the porch for their early dinner. 

 

As per usual, Ben finds himself the center of a Lydia and Rey sandwich, Jess sat on Rey’s left. The large man looks absolutely ridiculous squished between three women. But Rey is too caught up in piling food onto her plate to notice until Mr. Pava is opening his mouth. 

 

“Come sit here Jessika, where there’s more space. Let Mr. Solo sit with the ladies.”

 

Rey pauses mid bite, eyes finding Jessika’s, following hers as she slowly stands to follow her father’s order. The two girls are pouting, but they’re sat right across from each other now and they’re still playing footsies. 

 

“Are you saying mom and I aren’t ladies?” Jess’s brow is quirked and she’s grinning at her father who shakes his head.

 

“Not at all. I just want to sit with my ladies and I’m sure Mr. Solo wants to sit with his.” The man explains with a chuckle. 

 

Rey hasn’t taken her eyes off of Jess and they’re ogling at each other as if they’re having a conversation with no words. As one another’s best friends, it’s simply a requirement to be able to do so. 

 

From her peripheral vision, Ben is visibly tensing. Though, he typically is tense. But his lips have seemed to disappear, forming themselves into a flat line. It doesn’t suit his face. Lydia is over the moon with the title of being  _his_ , her cheeks rosy not from rouge or excessive amounts of wine. And then Ben is parting those lips, freeing them of their condensed state to demolish her.

 

“Lydia isn’t mine.” It’s the most blunt Rey thinks polite Mr. Solo has ever been. “Not like Mrs. Pava is yours.” He continues. But it’s hardly enough to save him because the entire table has grown a bit uncomfortable.

 

A brief moment passes where Rey has since found her plate to be the most interesting thing ever and not because of the food it contains. She’s willing herself not to look up at Jessika because she knows she’s done for once their eyes meet but the girl’s already taken it upon herself to snort. 

 

And then they’re both laughing again like fools, sending the Pava’s dog, Ody, something to munch on because they can’t seem to control the flail of their arms as they make to cover their faces. 

 

“Girls! _What_  is so funny?” It’s Lydia who’s demanding to know, her face beat red for an entirely different reason.

 

When Rey meets her mother’s eyes, she swears she sees the flames of Hell. But she’s seen them before and she’s sure it won’t be the last time, either. She is her daughter, after all. 

 

“Oh Lydia, we used to burst into laughter when we were children, too. I’m sure it’s just over something silly.” Mrs. Pava chimes in. 

 

Jessika shoots a tiny glare toward her mom. “We’re not children.” She defends. "We're sophisticated young ladies of society." The girl is mocking Rey's accent and Rey is the only one who finds it endearing.

 

Lydia isn’t having any of it, directing her anger at Rey because it’s just not her place to correct Jessika. Even if she has known her since she was just a sweet elementary school girl. 

 

“Then act like it!”

 

Rey, like Ben, is feeling bold today, too. 

 

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize that laughter had to stop once you reach adulthood.”

 

“Alright, alright. I think that’s enough, ladies. Everyone dig in. We’ve got plenty of food to pack in. The Mrs. and I don’t want any leftovers.”

 

Mr. Pava may not know how to grill, but he does know how to cut the tension. 

 

_____

 

Nearly fifteen minutes later and it seems everything has taken a turn for the better, the entire table engaged in conversation about myths. 

 

“That’s a _myth_ , mum.”

 

Rey is a believer of many things from magic to God. Sometimes, at least. She doesn't speak with him all too often and she thinks that maybe God could be a girl, too. But she never brings that up to her mother who, for whatever reason, is a die hard when it comes to Catholicism even though she never goes to church. She'd accuse Rey of blasphemy when she's really just thinking outside of the box. Rey just believes there has to be something greater than all of them. 

 

“It is not! I read it in The Cosmopolitan.”

 

Lydia is insisting that if one doesn’t wait a minimum of thirty minutes after eating before they swim, they’ll get cramps and drown. Rey has a completely different opinion on that matter considering she’s eaten her weight in watermelon and sunflower seeds at Summer camp and then swam in the lake. She isn’t dead of cramps and drowning!

 

“And people call it  _Cosmo_ now.” Rey says as a matter of fact.

 

“You’d better not be reading anything in that magazine, young lady!”

 

The girls are giggling again and Ben finds it funnier than he should that the little minx at his side is riling her mother up the way she is. He has to suppress the urge to grin. It may earn him unwanted attention from Lydia. 

 

“I know more than you think I do, mum. And I know for a fact that if you don’t wait after eating to swim, _nothing_ will happen.” She stands from her spot, brushing along Ben’s side. It’s warm even beneath the umbrella but he doesn’t want to her go. “I’d be more than happy to test it out. Because it’s fake.”

 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Lydia calls, shaking her head as she turns her attentions back to Mrs. Pava. They share a look and all it really says is “ _teenagers”_.

 

“I’ll send my love from the pool, mother.” She’s dramatic in the way she parts with the group, little fingers lifting and pressing to her puckered lips. 

 

The kisses she blows are not for Ben, but for the woman he’s got his back turned to. Oh, but he wishes they were his. He’d pocket them and save them for a rainy day because she’s sunshine. 

 

The girls don’t bother putting their swimsuits on, perfectly content with splashing about in their clothes. Ben doesn’t think he’d be able to handle if Rey were any less dressed than she is now. It would be torture not to gaze while in the presence of others who do not stare so longingly at Rey the way he does. But because he’s around others, it’s all the more reason to look away, to show some self restraint and respect for Rey.

 

And so, he’s stuck with his fellow adults to talk about politics and world news. Both topics of which Ben does enjoy in the right setting and mood. But perhaps not on a holiday because politics just seem to get him heated enough to start a debate himself and ensure that he wins it. Though, he’d much rather chat about either subject than have Lydia hanging off of his shoulder and acting as if he’s her husband and she’s just so proud of his new position.

 

“Ben’s gotten a job tutoring two darling children from Germany. He’s teaching them English. The family’s got money. You should see their house. It’s incredible, right?”

 

He glances to Lydia, then to the Pava’s who await the same answer. He simply nods. 

 

“It’s a lovely home. And the children are very nice.”

 

He’s turned into a parrot. Nodding his head and agreeing with everything Lydia says simply to appease her and the group because he really doesn’t have the energy to explain every little thing to the woman. Her curiosity is not nearly as satisfying to sate as Rey’s is. 

 

_____

 

The sun fades eventually and Rey isn’t sad to see another day pass because Summer seems perpetual and there are fireworks to be set off. She and Jess have reached their tanning goals. Rey a nice gold and Jess a beautiful bronze. But they’re paying the price with the demarcation lines from their clothes.

 

“I started laughing because I looked up and saw your mother’s face after he said that and couldn’t contain it any longer!” 

 

Jessika’s lips are blue, dyed from the Fire Cracker Popsicle that drips down from the stick and onto her fingers. Rey knows she’s either wipe them on her or on herself. But she’s got one, too and isn’t afraid to use it. 

 

“I can’t believe he said that.”

 

Mr. Solo seemed to knock Lydia down a notch with just three words. It's just what she needed to bring her back to reality. But still not enough to keep her there. The woman is persistent if nothing else. 

 

“Neither can I---and you know what?!” 

 

“Are you going to enlighten me, Jess?”

 

“You bet I am, kid.” The girl is leaning forward, taking extra precautions as to keep their conversation private. Rey meets her halfway until their noses are nearly touching. They laugh. “He only said that your mom wasn’t his. He never said anything about you.”

 

The smile that once pulled at her lips falls, her brow furrowing. She reverts back slowly because Jess is on to something and Rey is disappointed that she didn’t catch on to that when it happened. But she does now.  _Yes_ , she recalls that he only denied Lydia out loud to the table, but not Rey. Never Rey...not yet.

 

So far, Ben has not denied Rey the little bits of attention she wants where he always seems to be trying to escaping her mother’s painted nails from latching onto him. It’s as thought she’s got magnets in those talons of hers and she keeps dragging Ben back like he’s her polar opposite. Except, he is her opposite and the saying that they attract is not necessarily the truth---a MYTH. One that Lydia probably believes.

 

_____

 

When the fireworks have set off, and they go off for about three hours from all different locations in the area, Rey is dozing in the backseat of the car. Ben insists he drive home even if Lydia hasn’t drank anything in hours. He doesn’t want any of them put at risk if she’s still even the slightest bit intoxicated. Rey has not become a victim to cramps and drowning and Ben makes sure she’s not a victim of drunk driving, either. 

 

The brunette woman shuffles her way up the stone path to the home once Ben’s parked alongside the curb. For once, she seems eager to leave him be. But her daughter is asleep in the backseat, Ben finds. Moonlight pours through the window, highlighting her cheekbone and the freckles that dance across. Knees lazily knock into one another when she shifts, just barely waking, just enough for Ben to catch himself. 

 

“We’re home, Rey.” He murmurs to his sleeping beauty. The girl hums, further rousing herself so that she can mosey her way into the house, up the stairs, and to her bed. She thinks of nothing else but how wonderful the mess of sheets she left from this morning will be to fall into. 

 

“Come here, sweetheart. I’ll help you out of the car.” She hears Mr. Solo say before rounding the vehicle to her side. And it’s enough to open her eyes, vision following him as he comes to open her door and offer her his hand. 

 

Rey takes it after a brief moment of gazing into his face and tries to find her footing on the grass.

 

“It’s been such a strenuous day for you, has it?” He’s teasing her which he rarely does and the girl just has to revel in it. Rey chuckles softly, closing the car door behind her. 

 

“I just can’t bounce back the way I could when I was ten.” It’s his turn to laugh now and boy, does he. 

 

“Imagine being twenty-eight.” He counters. 

 

They’re moving through the threshold, Rey first, ladies first, and then Ben. They haven’t stopped holding each other’s hand. 

 

“I’d rather not.” Rey begins, hopping up onto the first step. Somehow, that quick ten minute nap seemed to help her regain her energy tenfold. 

 

Rey decides to slightly slip her fingers from his grasp, wanting to know just what he’d do. It’s a test, if anything. And whether or not he passes or fails is really in the eyes of anyone---of who deems this little gesture between a girl, nearly a woman, and a man right or wrong. 

 

Those optics of his drop to their connected hands, staring at them as if they’ll keep together simply because he wills them not to part. Rey doesn’t let it go unnoticed. She leans forward.

 

“Twenty-eight is _old_.” She continues, a tiny smirk on her lips. 

 

It should wound him even though he’s well aware that she’s joking. But he simply can’t find any reason to be offended when she’s looking at him like that, that glint in her eyes and the tiny curve of the left side of her mouth. It’s the side that seems to curve up first before that bright smile of hers takes over every part of her mouth. That smile never comes. Instead, she does let go of his hand and begins up the stairs with a gentle spoken  _goodnight_.

 

Ben is just short of leaping forward. “Wait!”

 

She’s a stair above himself and even then, she’s still almost a head shorter than him. He swallows and takes in the expression on her face, a adorable mix of surprise and confusion. 

 

“Bonne fête de l'indépendance.” 

 

The French language flows fluidly off of his tongue and through his lips, like he’s made to speak the language. And Rey looks up at him as if he’s not speaking French at all, as if their connection knows no bounds of language. She knows what he’s saying without really having to put her brain to use. 

 

“Happy Independence Day to you too, Mr. Solo.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Rey find themselves alone. They get to talking. And then some...

It’s maintenance day around the Kenobi-Solo household, Lydia an absolute freak about it. She wants everything dusted, to shine like the stars in a clear night sky or the diamond ring she wants from the department store that she talks about almost every single day. Though, she’s taken the most simple job of grocery shopping and left Rey to tend to household chores. She begins with the interior and ends with the laundry. Clothes are picked from every room in the home and nearly every surface too. Except for Mr. Solo’s. He wasn’t too keen on letting Rey gather his dirty laundry and insisted he’d take care of it when she was finished with her own.

 

Why? He’s allowed her mother to. 

 

They dry now, hooked upon lines that run across the span of their lush backyard, billowing in the gusts of wind that breeze through on this July day. If there is one thing Lydia takes pride in at the residence, something that her mother Satine adored and worked hard on, is their yard and garden. Rey’s grandmother had the greenest thumb and apparently, it runs in the family because Lydia does too. Why she works as a telephone operator and not a florist is beyond Rey. 

 

The woman has taken to working night shifts as telephone operator rather than day shifts. She insists that she works better during the night time anyway given that she’s an insomniac, constantly worrying, thinking. She might as well put that energy to use doing something productive like connecting calls for other people who can’t sleep, either.

 

Though, deep down, Rey is almost positive she hates the job. But not nearly as much as she hated being a seamstress. It all seems to work out in the end, however. Mr. Solo uses the car during the days when he works, she uses the car at night. And she makes just enough to pay the bills and put food on the table. 

 

Sprinklers run, spritzing the grass with cold water, hydrating everything from the lilies to the rose bushes and even Rey as they grow and thrive beneath the sun’s rays. They’ve got the nicest backyard on the street. No! The entire block. Lydia makes sure everyone knows it, too, the social butterfly she is. A social bragger, really.

 

Like right about now, she’s probably chatting up the store clerk, taking much longer out and about than needed and taking up more of the clerk's time than he likely wanted. Rey isn’t terribly upset about it. As she’s able to take a break and not get hounded for it by the woman. 

 

She’s soaked in her little white dress, an old slip worn beneath finer dresses that she stole from her mother’s closet being that it’s comfortable and plain---just the kind of clothes Rey likes. 

 

A book lays in the grass, the girl careful it’s out of range of water as she’s belly down, nose finding a home in the binding. The Scarlet Letter was given to her by Mr. Solo to read and she can’t put it down. Well, not until Jessika comes knocking for her to come out. Otherwise, she’d have been finished it by now. 

 

Well...she’s been given yet another reason not to focus today. And it’s not the amount of house work that needs to be finished. 

 

Across the way, upon the staircase to the back porch just in front of the swing, sits Mr. Solo in his khaki slacks and a white tank top, focused on a book himself, glasses perched atop the bridge of his strong nose and hair falling in his face. 

 

Rey isn’t sure what aspect to hone in on first, be it his arms or the dip of his clavicle, both equally enthralling. His skin has remained hidden from the Summer sun, protected from changing shades. He’s still a pale face and Rey grins to herself because her mother is unable to ever get as dark as Rey and she hates it when she calls her that. But even if he is just slightly darker than his tank top, it doesn’t keep her from wondering what being held in his arms would feel like. 

 

He doubles her in width, his shoulders broad. He looks as if he’s carved from marble---a modern day Adonis, he is! Rey could gaze for hours on end. 

 

Little does she know, he thinks he could do the same. He’s hardly concentrating on the text before him, reading the same sentence over and over and it still isn't making sense. Eyes strain to look out to the side, only just able to catch a glimpse of the girl who lays in the grass like a flower waiting to be picked. She’s watered like one, the white slip she wears clinging to her lithe form like a glove. He’s seen her this way before, the first day they met since she was just a little girl. Ben wishes he could catch her looking at him the way he looks at her because then he’ll know for sure that he’s not going crazy in this seemingly endless Summer. 

 

It’s torture being so far from her. Especially when they really have no need to be separated. Lydia is away, offering them peace but all Ben feels is conflict. For if she’s near, he will want to touch her. And if she’s far, then he’ll be longing for her to be close. The man yearns either way, is so smitten with this young beauty---a duckling turned swan and still growing into something magnificent. And she was never ugly even if he only remembers a solid shape of her from before.

 

Rey makes the first move and Ben’s almost given himself whip lash with how quick he’s turning his head toward her, watching her push up from the ground and pluck strands of grass from her body. The book comes next and then she’s moving toward him and he’s all but forgotten about the book in his own hands, the plot, the characters, the title! 

 

She’s a vision in white and gold wading through the grass until she’s looming above him like a perfect cloud. She drips, soaked by sprinkler water. 

 

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Rey asks. 

 

And Ben thinks that _yes_ , lovely is the precise word among many more he could use.

 

She’s referring to the yard and how exotic it feels being surrounded by greenery and life when just next door, Mr. Jenkins is having such difficulty growing a proper tomato (as he keeps complaining about)  and keeping his lawn from looking crisped like the toast she ate for breakfast this morning.

 

“Absolutely lovely, Rey.” He agrees and she smiles.

 

Rey lifts her hand to the hem of her slip, bunching it between her fingers. Oh, how he waits with bated breath for her to expose more of her honey thighs to his vision. He shifts in his spot, sitting straighter, eyes trained on her legs. They’re perfect level for his gaze, perfect level for his own hands to reach forward and help her. And if the lip comes high enough, he’s got a front row seat to the delicious view of the apex between her thighs.

 

The lines of panties are visible, hugging her hips, concealing her most private places. If they were not alone, he would not ogle, would do to cover her up instead and avert hungry eyes. He wishes for no one else to see her this way, to see the beautiful rose hue of her pebbled nipples that poke through the sheer fabric or the dip of her belly button. 

 

But she’s only ringing out the water from the slip, gathering the liquid in her hand only to flick it at him. He winces and lets a chuckle loose, nose scrunching. 

 

“Thank you for that. It was getting a little warm over here.”

 

“Anything for a friend.” 

 

Rey replies, taking a seat below him, slinking into the grass. He doesn’t tear his eyes from her, can’t, taking note of every slight move she’s making from each bat of her lashes to the way her head lowers to rest upon his knee. Those baby doll orbs, bright and green and round, look to him coyly, her middle finger tip raised, suspended just enough to draw lazy circles in the fabric of his pants. 

 

“We are friends  _right_ , Mr. Solo?” 

 

She asks for reassurance of something that is plainly obvious. Even if friendship isn’t quite what their relationship has formed into. Still, he cares for her, converses with her like they’re friends. 

 

“Because I consider you my friend. Am I  _yours_?” 

 

 **Yours**.

 

 _Mine_ , he thinks. And he doesn’t have any right to. Because she isn’t his no matter how much he wants her to be. So for now, he settles for second best. 

 

“You’re mine---my friend. You’re my friend. We’re friends.”

 

It brings a smile to her lips and Ben feels like he’s made an accomplishment. She still lays her dimpled cheek against his leg. At his side and on his book, fingers tense and twitch, wanting to reach out. Surely he could indulge for a moment to push the errant curl that’s strayed from the highest bun in her row of three. He goes for it, the back of a thick finger pushing the hair behind her ear even though it’s beautifully formed against her cheekbone that he can’t help but go out of his way to press just a tad more pressure to in order to feel her soft skin. 

 

Eyes flutter closed, a soft sigh to rival the soft breeze of warm air falls from her mouth. Ben wonders if she likes his touch, likes the feel of a calloused finger, his, brushing the smooth expanse of her skin. He would touch her anywhere she wished if it would make her sigh that way again and again and perhaps even graduate to his name. 

 

If the eyeful he’s received isn’t enough to make his pants tight, Rey’s nearly bare body held by wet fabric, breasts a subtle swell and skin glistening, then the thought of her sighing his name is. But he doesn’t want to pull away or go hide in his room to conceal his shame for becoming so taken by the girl---the young woman that lays her head upon his legs and reacts verbally to his touch in the gentlest way. 

 

But she still insists on calling him Mr. Solo because she’s such a good girl, so polite. The name is his father’s but when she acknowledges him, the formality on her tongue, he doesn’t think of Han. He thinks of how sweet her voice is and that she’s paying him mind rather than thinking he’s turning into his father. 

 

“You don’t have to call me Mr. Solo, Rey.”

 

“Would you prefer me to call you Professor Solo, then? How about just _Sir_?” She’s teasing him and he takes the bait every single time.

 

Though, he cannot deny that Sir does sound very appealing. _Ben_ is just far more personal. He wants to be personal with her. 

 

“Ben. Call me Ben.”

 

“D’accord... _Ben_.” 

 

“Your French is exceptional, Rey.”

 

“I’ve got an exceptional teacher. Even if he limits me to one small lesson a day.”

 

“Because he doesn’t want to overwhelm you. A little goes a long way, darling.”

 

It’s very much true, too. A lesson that Lydia would do well to learn. He gets small doses of Rey and it’s just enough, but not, constantly leaving him wanting more. But there is something so enticing about the slow build of whatever this is between them, the slow exploration. Rey thinks the same even if she wants to sit with him at his desk all day and talk about everything and nothing. He’s overwhelmed her before, a gentle press of his lips to her hand or the longing stares they share while he’s sat at the kitchen table and she’s painting her nails on the living room floor. Even if her mother does pass through and shout at her not to get nail polish on the wood and then send a roll of her brown eyes to Ben.

 

Ben would wait a thousand years for her. And it feels as though he has been because she’s still 17 and his will power is stronger than he thought. 

 

“I’m just greedy, I guess. I want to learn. What else can you teach me?”

 

So eager, his girl. It's all the more reason to teach her everything he knows.

 

“You may be the only person I know who’s on Summer vacation and still wants to be taught.” 

 

She beams, proud to be acknowledged. “Is that such a bad thing?”

 

“No. Not in the slightest---come.” Ben beckons her to his side, the step up from him. Rey obliges, crawling over his lap and placing herself upon the porch, her leg draped across both of his and the other tucked into her body. 

 

“What is it you want to learn, Rey?”

 

He doesn’t ask the question to put her on the spot and she doesn’t answer right away as if she feels pressured. Rather,  her eyes flit to the side, pearly teeth tugging at her pink lip in thought. He’s noticed she does that a lot when she’s concentrating and it’s both endearing and maddening. 

 

“You.”

 

“Me?” He’s quirking a dark brow in response.

 

“I want to know about you.” Rey says, confident in her words. 

 

“I’m a teacher of French and English and you ask me to teach you about myself.”

 

“I'd like to think I'm already pretty decent at English. So much so that I speak it fluently. And you're already teaching me French little by little. You’re an expert on yourself, aren’t you? I'm not.”

 

Ben opens his mouth to speak words that have not yet formed into sentences. She’s right. He does know himself...well, he thinks he’s got a good handle on who he is as a person. He knows his own favorite color and that he’d never kill anyone. Without good reason, at least. 

 

Rey gives a single nod of her head. “Black is my favorite color. Red might be the next.” And he doesn’t say that because her toes are always painted red and he thinks that its a beautiful color on her skin tone. 

 

“I like green.”

 

Green. Like her eyes. Ah yes, another color to tie with black. Perhaps he enjoys shades of brown and beige now too for her hair and freckles. 

 

“You seem to like green and red together. Is it safe to say Christmas is your favorite holiday?”

 

“Actually, it’s Halloween.”

 

The man scoffs, nose scrunches in response. He detests the day, finds it’s pointless.

 

“Not a fan of All Hallows Eve?”

 

“It’s hardly a holiday. Just children dressing up and knocking on people’s doors in search of candy. Don’t parents teach their children the dangers of taking candy from strangers?” 

 

He wants to take back part of what he said or at least re-word it better. She doesn’t look offended and if she is, she’s got a damn good poke face. He didn’t mean anything by what he said---just that he doesn’t understand the holiday. Only participated when he was little because his mother and father thought it was a fundamental part of childhood. 

 

Rey shrugs her shoulders, a barely there strap of her barely there slip falling from her shoulder. 

 

She doesn’t really know what to say. She could tell him that maybe she is a child, then. She could tell him that not everyone in this world is looking to poison children with sweets they hand out on Halloween. Rey opts for something lighter instead. 

 

“Did you have a terrible experience with Halloween as a child? Who hurt you, Ben?” She asks as if he’s been in grave danger, asking as if she’s his therapist. Except she’s laughing and so is he.

 

“My mother dressed me as a pumpkin and has photos.”

 

Rey laughs harder, Ben looks away with pursed lips to hold back the ridiculous grin that wants to burst on his face. 

 

“So tragic. How did you manage to move on from it?” It’s rhetorically asked, facetious but not rude. 

 

“What do _you_ dress as? I'll bet you've been dressed as something embarrassing, too.” 

 

The girl perks up. “My mum dressed me as Santa one year per request of my father, apparently." Rey admits, almost proud. Ben thinks to ask her of her father, but decides against it because their conversation is not of that nature and that topic could really offend her. It's the last thing he wants to do. "Last year I dressed as Rosie the Riveter. Because women are just as capable as men. This year...maybe I’ll be a cat. If I go out, that is.”

 

He’s smiling again, eyes closing and head shaking.  “You’re not wrong. My mother thinks the same as you and I suppose she gets it from my grandmother.”

 

His family is full of strong women from his grandmother to his aunt Mara to his mother and Ben knows with great certainty that women are just as capable as men. He’s found that they’re quite an advanced peoples and more mature than men majority of the time, anyway.

 

But then he’s thinking of Rey with whiskers, a tail, and ears and has to chuckle. What a pretty kitten she’d make, no doubt able to claw your eyes out if need be. 

 

“Both incredibly intelligent women.” Rey says, needing to know little more than what he’s told her of his grandmother and what she remembers of Mrs. Solo. Ben agrees wholeheartedly.  

 

“Are you nearsighted or far?”

 

“What--- _oh_.” The peculiar question (ironically) blindsides him, the change in subject vast. He peels the glasses from his face.

 

“Near. But I’m not terribly blind. Not yet, at least.” 

 

The man’s been wearing glasses since he was a boy, no older than five. His mother thought he was the cutest little boy in the world with his four eyes and now she thinks he’s the most handsome man with four eyes because he reminds her so much of her late husband. 

 

“How do I look from here?” Rey’s asking, no more than a two feet from him. 

 

_Beautiful._

 

“A little blurry. I can see you just fine, though.”

 

She’s standing again, making her way toward the swing that hands from the largest tree in the backyard. Her hips sway with each step, bottom round. He glances to the stairs where she’s left a wet mark that will dry up in no time with the heat. 

 

“How do I look from here?” She calls. Ben stands from his spot, setting his book aside, his glasses on top. 

 

_Still beautiful._

 

But he doesn’t say it out loud. He only advances in her direction, watching as she slides onto the swing, toes barely brushing the ground. Just enough to give her the leverage she needs to kick off. 

 

Rey doesn’t take her eyes off of him, either, still expecting an answer. His strong hands finger the ropes, gripping them as he leans forward to catch her mid swing, their legs brushing together and his knee is so very close to slipping between her thighs and if she’s any higher up, which he could easily push her higher, she’d slide forward and he’d find her cunt soaking and pressed to his leg, soaking his tight pants too. 

 

“You looked too far.” 

 

Not clear, not blurry. Just too far away from him for his liking. He had to close the space, wants to close more space and there’s just so little left but it seems impossible to do because of his conscious. But she looks like an angel. She’s touched him like one, but he can’t touch her. That is, until, she’s scooting forward, practically capturing his leg between hers.

 

“Swing me a little.”

 

 _Touch me a little._  

 

He humors her and himself, leg moving forward then back, rocking Rey on the swing. It only sends her closer until she’s nearly sat on his thigh. She’s more than halfway, her wet clothes wetting his. And if he looks close enough, he can see that her hips are rolling in sync with each press of his thigh into the wooden seat, grinding so gently into him that it almost isn’t even happening. 

 

Except that it is and she’s chewing on her lip again, head tipping back. Ben’s mouth is dry, parted, his hands moving to cover hers on the ropes as she uses him. He’d let her use him any way she likes, any way she wants him. He’s...

 

Hardening beneath his trousers, cock pulsating with a desire he’s been trying so hard to keep at bay. And Rey, inside her, the pit of her belly, that same pulsating, a hot steady thrum that does not match the erratic beating of her heart. 

 

His gaze is intense, meeting her own in a showdown. Neither look away, neither want to. Ben can’t believe what he’s seeing, his sweet girl, so innocent, grating her pussy against him, starting to pant softly, wanting for him and him too weak to stop her.

 

“Reynada!”

 

A stronger force stops them both, sending Rey flying upward and into Ben's chest. She shoves past him to grab the wicker basket from the ground, tearing halfway dried sheets and shirts and pants and underthings from the clothes lines and stuffing them inside. 

 

It’s pressed to her chest, covering her front as she pushes forward past Lydia who is dressed in her best clothes and standing in the doorway of the living room leading to the porch.

 

“Set those down and go unload the car, Rey. I bought a lot of food that needs to be put in the ice box immediately!” She calls, demanding her daughter. 

 

Ben is left gripping the ropes of the swing so tightly he could tear it from the tree, his member heavy in his pants, constricting, a wet spot in the shape of a part of Rey apparent against his thigh. He looks to Lydia who is already staring at him. Ben represses a groan both from her gaze and from the hard-on he’s sporting, frustrated and wondering just how the hell he’s going to explain it because there’s no God damn way she won’t be checking as nosy as she is. 

 

Ben, for a moment, wonders if she saw anything. He’s fearful, but then she’s speaking to him and he’s just plain annoyed. 

 

“Won’t you come help, Ben? We need a big strong man to help us.” Lydia croons. Ben forces a smile and she heads off, peeling the stupid hat from her head as she heads into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine. 

 

_____

 

She can hardly look at him. Especially when she’s sat before her him and her mother at the dinner table. Rey prods at her meat with her fork, chicken covered in some sort of seasoning and a generous amount of broccoli on the side next to her bread. 

 

“What’s wrong, Rey? Aren’t you hungry? You’d better eat. I didn’t slave over the hot stove for nothing.” Her mother’s voice is not soothing, not used with the intent to show care for her daughter as she abnormally toys with her food. 

 

Ben is the same, quiet and gathering the chicken’s juice upon his fork as redundant as it is. He feels guilt spread through him, uneasiness. How could he not? He's sat in front of Rey who was finding release on his thigh not too long ago and in front of her mother who may or may not have saw them. What's worst is that he was so ready to let Rey come on his thigh, to make her come, make her feel a way he hopes she's never felt before. At least not from someone else. 

 

“Nothing is wrong, mum. Thank you for dinner.” Rey says with the hope that it will appease her mother. She simply takes a sip of wine and turns her attention toward Ben.

 

“I’ll get to your wash tomorrow, Ben. I told Rey to, but I suppose she got lazy. I saw the pile at the top of the stairs.”

 

“It’s no worry, Lydia. I can wash my own clothes.” Ben lifts his water to his lips. “And Rey did offer. But as I said, I can do it myself. She’d already cleaned the entire house. I didn’t want to burden her with more.”

 

Rey does finally look to Ben with nothing other than gratitude in her eyes for coming to her defense. He meets her eyes and offers her a soft smile. Rey would’ve gladly let him burden her with _more_ had Lydia not come home and disrupted their time together. 

 

“Yes, she did look _busy_ sitting on the swing.” It’s the wine talking and maybe a dash of jealousy. 

 

But it has both Rey and Ben staring wide eyed into their plates with nothing to say in response. The fans are running, but if it got any quieter, Lydia could hear the heartbeats of both Ben and Rey and perhaps even their blood pumping madly through them. Though, luckily for them, or maybe unluckily, Lydia has more to say when she stands from the table, plate clear and heading toward the refrigerator. 

 

“Who’s ready for dessert?” 


	6. Chapter 6

The bicycle is baby blue, the basket perched upon the handles tan and the wheels covered in mud because it rained yesterday for all of ten minutes and turned the grass to mush. Almost 18 and she’s still riding her bike to and from and simply because she likes to ride her bike. It’s winsome watching she and the Pava girl circle one another in the street, ringing their little bells while the other neighborhood kids, who are actually kids in comparison to the teenage girls, play about them.  

 

Ben is meandering through, slow and steady, cautious, as the children part like the red sea so he can park the car on the curb...but then he thinks the car is safer and less likely to be hung on and dented up if it’s in the driveway. A car he wouldn’t mind being left in the streets is his father’s. The piece of junk is his, apparently. Left to Ben in his will after passing. Ben has yet to claim the car since being back in the states and he doesn’t really want to. Why bother when he’s got a perfectly good car to use?

 

Though, it won't be beneficial or even realistic to rely on the Kenobi's car forever. There will come a time, of which Ben can't say is near or far, that he will move out and require his own means of transportation. He's reminded again of the silver car covered in scratches, the interior covered in his family's late dog's hair. It probably still smells like old Chewie, too.

 

The group of kids find their way back into the street, Rey and Jessika riding alongside one another just a little ways up the road to keep away from prying ears. Children manage to hear more than they’re supposed to and what’s worse is that they’re incredibly honest. But nothing can save them from prying eyes as Mr. Solo is looking to them, hand raised, waving. Rey smiles in return, chiming her bells. 

 

“He’s looking extra handsome today. I love a man in a uniform.”

 

“He’s not wearing a uniform, Jess. It’s a tie, a button up, and slacks.”

 

“It’s his  _work_ uniform. ‘Sides, what do you care?” She’s riding in a circle around Rey, starting off ahead of her and tossing a look over her shoulder. “You like the way he looks no matter what he’s wearing.”

 

Rey halts, sandal clad toes pressing into the tar as she stares her audacious friend for a moment before racing after her. Of course, it’s no secret that Rey thinks Ben is the most attractive man to walk this Earth. Well, right next to Gene Kelly, of course. She thinks he might know how she feels too given that she was rubbing against his thigh like a cat in heat just the other day. 

 

Since then, they’ve shared little more than glimpses and few words. Majority of them being the French he still makes a point to teach her each day. She's very much appreciative of the gesture.

 

“You need to shut up, Jess! He could’ve heard you!” Rey whispers. But the grin she’s wearing does not match the tone of voice. 

 

And then Jess is defying her because she took Rey’s exasperated and nervous smiling the complete wrong way. 

 

“Hi, Mr. Solo! Lookin’ good today!” Jess comments, stopping in front of the driveway on her bike. 

 

Ben is nearly inside when she grabs his attention. He doesn’t look flustered by her words and Rey’s not expecting  the tiny smile and not of his head he acknowledges Jessika's compliment with, as if to say he's grateful for it without really speaking the words.

 

“Hello, Jessika.” He sighs, indulging the teen. Then he acknowledges Rey. 

 

“Rey...I take it it’ll be just you and I for dinner tonight, then? Your mother starts her shift soon, doesn’t she.”

 

“Within the hour, yes. I could make pasta. We’ve got tomato sauce.” 

 

“It’s too hot to cook anything. We’ll go out. How about to the malt shop on Second Street? You like it there, right?” 

 

Rey’s lips part, then close, then part again. Jessika knows she’s at a loss for words because he’s basically asking her on a date, isn’t he? Jess is surprised too and takes it upon herself to answer. 

 

“She loves it there, right Rey?”

 

Rey looks to Jessika who wears a larger than life grin on her lips. “I do.” Rey finally answers. 

 

“Watch out, though. She dips her fries in her shake.” 

 

His head tilts slightly in a way that’s far too adorable for a grown man, his dark tresses slipping atop one another into a cascade. “You do?”

 

“Yes, I do,” She nudges the dark haired girl. “And it’s pretty good, if you ask me.”

 

“ _Interesting_.” 

 

He excuses himself to freshen up a moment later. Rey wants to do the same. But not before ramming herself into her giggling friend and seeing her off down the road.

 

Rey's excitement is unable to be concealed, she's nearly quivering, wobbling on her bike. Jessika pauses at the stop sign to offer Rey last minute advice and encouragement that she doesn't really need...but definitely does because she can't stop smiling and her cheeks are going to be sore if she doesn't quit acting as if she hasn't been asked out before. In fact, she's had plenty of dates at this malt shop. It's just the place to be and she's always welcome there with open arms. There's Maz, who owns the shop, and Finn who makes the best ice cream soda Rey's ever had in her life. 

 

Yes, thinking of Finn carrying her an ice cream soda with extra chocolate sauce and his giant grin keeps her nerves in check. For the time being, at least. 

 

_____

 

She’s never really worried too much about what she looks like, what to wear, always just tossing something on without a second thought. Now she’s gone through her entire closet and even her dresser drawers in attempt to find something suitable for dinner with Mr. Solo...Ben...and not her mother. 

 

The girl stands among the aftermath of a hurricane of patterns and colors and she knows that if Lydia sees the mess she’s made, she’s going to unleash all Hell on her. Lydia is no neat freak, either. Rey’s had to clean up the panties and bras she leaves hanging about numerous times---clean ones, no less! Though, Rey thinks she does it now more often in hopes of enticing Ben. It makes her cringe with disgust that her mother would be so unbearably brash with her advances on a man who is so obviously not interested. 

 

And it isn’t that Rey wishes to belittle her mother or discourage her from finding someone new, but she’s taking things a little too far and there may come a time when Ben snaps because she just can't take a hint. Or doesn't want to. Rey is no expert on men or the art of seduction. She's never been in love or married or really even liked a guy romantically before she met Ben. But she does know how much is too much. And Lydia Kenobi is just way too much. 

 

“Reynada Jo Kenobi...this room is atrocious! What are you doing tossing all of your clothes all over the place?”

 

Rey doesn’t bother looking to her mother. Instead, she’s already in the process of refolding said clothes. All while the word _hypocrite_ rings through her busy head. 

 

“I’m looking for something to wear.”

 

“Well, I think I’ve found something! A lot of things. What are you dressing up for anyway?” She demands, flinging a pair of shorts her way. 

 

Rey is reluctant to say what the occasion is. Who knows just what she’ll do.

 

 _No_...actually, Rey knows _exactly_ what Lydia will do. And Rey will do everything in her power to make sure she doesn’t succeed not only for her own sake, but for Ben's and the sake of her job. 

 

“Mr. Solo offered to take me to dinner tonight.” Rey tells her, running flat palms across the skirt of her dress.

 

Lydia is silent at her side, seemingly taking in what she’s told her. 

 

“Well, maybe I should call out of work tonight and join the both of you. I’d say it’s a perfect evening for a night on the town. And well deserved after a long week. ” She suggests and Rey is already prepared with a response.

 

“He’s taking me out because you’re supposed to go to work and it’s too hot to cook.” Rey begins, averting her eyes from her reflection from the mirror to her mother. She looks so stern for someone so young. 

 

“You can’t call out of work. It would be the third time this week. Remember? You spent Tuesday drinking and Wednesday hungover.” She finishes, moving past an exasperated Lydia to the bathroom to fix her hair. 

 

Rey doesn’t quite make it that far, her thin arm grabbed onto, red nails like talons digging into the flesh of her arm. The woman is angry, threatened and becoming defensive. Deep down, so far down, she knows Rey is right.

 

“You don’t speak to me that way, young lady. I’m your mother and I do as I please. My work is none of your business.” The brunette seethes, quiet enough so that Ben won’t hear the dark side of this mother-daughter relationship.

 

Rey doesn’t cower, the girl not one to bite her tongue. Instead, she’s leaning forward and opening her lips to speak in the calmest of tones, icy. “Is it not my business when I’m holding your hair for you or getting you into bed at four in the morning? Or when your employer calls here asking where you are and I have to explain to him how ill you are because you can't?” 

 

If Lydia wasn't taken back before, she's positively thrown now. Rey rips her arm from her mother’s harsh grasp. 

 

“If it isn’t my business, then don’t  _make_ it mine anymore.”

 

The bathroom door is slammed, leaving a shaken Lydia standing in the doorway of her daughter’s room, nails no longer biting into Rey’s skin, but into her own palms. Her jaw is clenched shut out of anger, not because she wishes to hold in her shouts. Not while Ben is just in the room down the hall and he’s likely heard snippets of their quarrel. It wouldn’t be the first he’s heard them. 

 

Though, Rey’s never taken it quite this far. 

 

In the bathroom, Rey’s trembling fingers grip the porcelain rim of the sink, staring at her face. She’s gone red and it doesn’t compliment her dress, a lovely lavender. Then again, this mood she’s been put into doesn’t compliment her normally happy self. 

 

Rey sighs and twists the faucet, splashing cold water on her face. Her next move is to do something about her hair because it’s been up all day and it’s likely dried into the strange shape of her even stranger buns. When she releases her tresses, they fall below her shoulder in loose waves, kinky in some places but nothing a bit of water won’t help. 

 

The girl tweaks is tweaking her hair when there’s a knock on the door. She’s sure it’s her mother back to harass her and answers quite rudely. 

 

“What!?”

 

“I---sorry, it’s only me. I was just wondering if you were almost ready.”

 

Ben’s voice is is heard through the barrier of the door and she slumps, feeling terrible for the way she reacted. She opens the door, her face softened and the way his eyes light up when she comes into view wearing her pretty dress with her hair down doesn’t fall upon blind eyes. 

 

“No, I’m sorry. I thought you were my mum.” She weakly explains.

 

His face contorts, concerned. “Did...did something happen? Are you alright?”

 

“Nothing that fries in a milkshake won’t fix.” Rey says, moving forward.  

 

But then he’s reaching for her hand, a dwarf within his. Rey pauses, turning back slightly to face him. His eyes are trained on her arm, the indentations as red as her mother’s nails, broken skin poking from the marks. Lydia truly does have claws.

 

When she looks to Ben, he wears an expression that she cannot decipher, biting at his lip perhaps in thought of what to say or to keep himself from saying anything. All Rey needs him to know is that it’s nothing he should to worry about, that her mother doesn’t do this often. He’s around most of the time anyway. If she were physically harming her, surely he’d notice.

 

“I don’t want to pry or get in the middle of you two...” Ben starts, softly brushing his thumb atop the marks, “but if she hurts you, Rey, I won’t have a choice.” 

 

Rey gently pulls her arm from Ben, flattered that he's so willing to care for her when it feels like not even her own mother does. “It’s nothing. Her nails are just a bit too long. You don’t have to worry about either of us.” 

 

She is already worrying about her mother enough for the both of them, unsure of how to fix someone that doesn’t think she is doing anything wrong, that doesn’t want to be fixed. Lydia Kenobi would sooner depend on a man to help her out of this rut than her own daughter who’s been consistently with her for the past 17 years, who loves her through everything. It’s sad, but the cold hard truth. 

 

_____

 

They walk to the malt shop on Second Street because the sun is setting and it’s a little less warm. That, and Lydia’s taken the car to work. Neither of them mind the walk being that they aren’t far from the joint, anyway. Rey is just glad to be with him, glad that her mother is at work until the wee hours of the morning when she comes home and Rey is asleep in her bed only to wake and find that her mother is fast asleep in her room. It’s a joyous discovery, something she expects every time the woman works. 

 

But they’ve since switched subjects from that of Lydia and Rey’s fight to something less heavy and far more tasty.

 

“I promise you, this is life changing. Just try!” Resy insists, borderline feeding Ben a fry that she’s dipped into her chocolate shake.

 

"She's right!" Chimes in Finn who is on his way to deliver a basket of french fries to another table. Ben spares him a glance before turning back to Rey.

 

His hues are narrow, scrutinizing her and then the chocolate covered fry. “How could a fry covered in ice cream be life changing, Rey?”

 

“Eat and maybe you’ll find out.” She wags it in his face and a drop falls upon the brightly colored table. 

 

Ben gives her one last glance before leaning forward and nipping the fry from her fingers. Rey feels oddly satisfied when he doesn’t take the fry between his own, allowing her to feed him. Rey’s hand retracts, popping her thumb into her mouth to rid it of milkshake and salt all while watching for Ben’s reaction.

 

“It’s...”

 

“Life changing.” Her mouth is full of burger but he doesn’t seem to care because he’s chortling at her full cheeks. She looks like a chipmunk in preparation for winter but damn it if she isn't the cutest chipmunk looking human of all. 

 

“Not quite the words I’d use. That’s a hyperbole. Maybe something along the lines of pleasing or...good. It’s plain good. A nice combination of salty and sweet.”

 

“Don’t go all teacher mode on me!”

 

“Says you who, just days ago, was begging me to teach you something.” He retorts.

 

“I was hardly _begging_ you. _That’s_ a hyperbole!” 

 

It’s hard not to think of that day, how close they were, how her head felt upon his leg or how his leg felt between her thighs. Rey flushes and buries her face in a desert menu that’s placed beside the condiments despite already having a milkshake before her and her burger main course just barely halfway eaten.

 

“You can’t possibly want more food, Rey.”

 

She sends him a look that has him laughing. If he only knew she's hiding her face because she can't stand to look into the eyes of the man who's leg she almost came on. 

 

“What’s it to you if I want more food? I could eat it. I’m a bottomless pit. A growing girl.”

 

Ben rests his elbows on the table, an act his mother would’ve swatted him for had he done it at home. His mother is in a different country across the Atlantic ocean and he can do just about whatever he pleases. And what he wants to do is gaze at Rey like they’re on a date even though this is just a kind gesture to save them from having to cook themselves. 

 

The girl is growing. She grows everyday, forming into an incredible human being first and foremost. And a beautiful one at that. 

 

“You know...” Fries are shoved into that pretty mouth of hers. “While we’re on the topic of teaching me things...”

 

She’s leaving him on the edge of his seat, leaning closer as if to try and catch the rest of her thoughts. 

 

“I want you to teach me how to drive.”

 

It’s not what he’s expecting. Though, Ben never really knows what to expect with Rey. She keeps him on his toes. He’s just a little hesitant about this.

 

“Have you ever driven before?”

 

“Nope!” The p is popped, lips smacking together.

 

“I don’t know, Rey...”

 

“Oh, come on! Please?”

 

Ben is an instructor of languages, not driver’s ed. “Maybe you should stick to your bike. I’ll drive you where you need to go. That way, you’re safe...and everyone else on the road is safe, too.” 

 

Rey rolls those round eyes of hers and chucks a half bitten fry at his head. He dodges it with ease and it finds a seat at his side.

 

“I won’t know if I’m a decent driver if I don’t try. And I won’t become one unless I practice.” 

 

She’s got a point, he can give her that much. His head bobs in consideration and she looks so hopeful. He doesn't want to crush her, to deny her anything. Ben may not be able to give her what he wants, what he thinks she wants too, just yet. But he can give her this. 

 

“Alright. But we aren’t using the Delahaye.”

 

Rey bounces in her seat but happiness is quickly replaced with confusion. 

 

“What will we use, then?”

 

Ben has found a reason to claim his father’s car. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben teaches Rey to drive and almost gets taught another lesson instead...

“The break, Rey!”

 

She’s giggling like a troublesome child and he’s nearly suffered from a heart attack with every press of her foot into the gas of his father’s car---a Ford Model T that is far too old to be on the streets given the amount of cars available on lots today that are far more reliable and frankly, nicer looking too.  

 

It’s older than dirt, older than Ben who was also apparently conceived inside the vehicle. He’s avoided looking in the backseat. And not because of the cigarette burn marks or stuffing coming from the car’s seats. It’s silvery on the outside, muted from years of wear and tear. On the inside, some mixture of grey and brown to create the ugliest hue Ben’s ever seen. 

 

Rey doesn’t seem to care. Not anymore, at least. It’s grown on her in a way that it never really grew on Ben and in a short amount of time, too. Though, Rey’s managed to do the same to him because it’s difficult to look at the road and make sure there isn’t a child (or that damn dog of Miss Martin’s that seems to only stop yipping if it’s eating) running in the street when Rey is beside him, positively radiant even within this piece of shit car. He swears he’s only putting this thing to use because of her. 

 

“But there’s no one coming! My mum does it when she comes to a stop sign. If she doesn’t see anyone, then she goes right through. Why waste time stopping if nothing is there? It seems silly, doesn’t it?”

 

There are a lot of things Ben could say now and say about Lydia, but he chooses to keep his comments to himself, abiding by his mother’s words; if you don’t have anything nice to say, then don’t say anything at all.

 

He _really_ doesn’t have a nice thing to say about the woman. 

 

“It’s call a stop sign for a reason, Rey. You’re supposed to **stop** regardless of if there are or aren’t any cars. You have to be mindful of pedestrians, too.”

 

“Pedestrians should be mindful of me.” She quickly retorts, glancing into the rear view mirror. 

 

“That’s not the way the world works, sweetheart.” Ben sounds so much like his father now that even he’s questioning if the man is speaking in his ear. But he’s gone and Ben would much rather be like his mother. “Besides, I’m sure you’d be saying the opposite if you were the pedestrian.”

 

Rey sighs, taking into consideration being in someone else’s shoes. She  _has_ been the pedestrian for all of her life up until now. 

 

“I suppose.”

 

“No, don’t  _suppose_.” He chuckles. “Don’t be a reckless driver.” 

 

 _Like your mother_ , he wants to add. But doesn’t. 

 

Her eyes flit to Ben who sits no more than a foot from her on the bench seat. “Why don’t you give me a demonstration, then?” Rey suggests. “Since you’re such an expert driver.”

 

“I have a driver’s license.” Ben snorts. “And on top of that, you’ve already been driving with me. More than once.”

 

“I was asleep for the first and not really paying too much attention to your technique during the other times!” 

 

“If you’re so eager to learn how to drive, then why weren’t you paying attention to my technique?”

 

Actually, she was paying attention to Ben’s _profile_ and how gloriously full his lips are as well as the spatter of moles and freckles sprinkled across his cheek like stars. Though, she isn’t going to admit that to him. If she’s not staring out the window at streets and shops and people she’s seen a thousand times before, then she’s gazing at him and nothing else as they glide along. 

 

"Because! You know I like to close my eyes and listen to music." She pretends she's performing even though she doesn't have the guts to take that on in reality. 

 

 

He laughs and she stops the car then in the middle of the road and not at a proper sign. It’s  violent and causes him to jerks forward, hands flying to the dashboard, gripping tightly to ensure his face doesn’t catch the edge. But he’s shooting back up soon after, ensuring that Rey hasn’t brought hard to herself with wild eyes.

 

But she’s perfectly fine, a hand gripping the wheel, the other putting the car in park. All the while, that same curl falls into her face and it seems to be the only disruption. 

 

“Come on.” She says, moving to unbuckle herself. Ben quirks a brow at her smooth transition. And then she’s turning her body, climbing the short distance to Ben and seating herself atop his lap.

 

It seems to be a place of interest for her.

 

Not that he particularly minds. Ben likes to have her near and even if they were only sat a short ways apart on opposite sides of the car, he could do to be closer. And close they are in the compact space of the car, Rey ducking to avoid hitting her head on the roof and Ben’s knees practically against the dashboard because his legs are so long. 

 

Thighs are parted, resting on either side of his own, the fabric of her dress draping across his pants. This may be the first time he’s close enough that he thinks he could count every freckle that’s dusted across her nose and cheeks. Ben would too if it meant keeping her here forever---a selfish thought. But he can be a selfish man at times. 

 

Rey seems to be a tad greedy herself, always finding a way to be closer to him, to touch him. Why else wouldn’t she have simply opened the door and rounded the car if her ploy wasn’t to? And she’s most certainly touching him now, lowering herself, bottom resting upon his lap, the sweet gap in her thighs pressed to his crotch. Ben suppresses a groan, hoping to God she does’t move an inch or worse...grind herself into him like she had his thigh on that day not too far in the past.

 

They’re in the open, in a car with the windows down in a heavily populated neighborhood but she’s all he sees with her pretty grin and crinkled eyes that always seem to hold mischief in them. She’s his little kitten, his Tom, always wanting to play. He’s her mouse, her Jerry, terrified of her but not doing a thing to cease all interactions. And yet, they’re nothing like the duo. 

 

This isn’t to be taken as lightly as a cartoon that the both have them have taken part in watching. It’s so much more, but it can’t be. Not yet, at least. But here she sits on his lap, her petite hands finding his muscular shoulders and his hands sliding along her thighs and if he so happens to catch the skirt of her dress and drag it along the way, then so be it. 

 

“Aren’t you going to get behind the wheel?”

 

She’s flustered him much easier than she should have been able too in the past and on multiple occasions. Perhaps he’ll take another crack at it. 

 

“I can’t do that when I’ve got you sitting on my lap, now can I?”

 

“You can do anything you put your mind to.”

 

He chortles. “That’s very inspiring, Rey.”

 

“Thanks!” She beams. “Besides, if you wanted me off your lap, then you wouldn’t be holding my hips, now would you?”

 

God damn it all.

 

His fingers have since found the slight protrusion of her hips, holding her to him. No, he really doesn’t want to remove her. He doesn’t care to drive. Though, he also doesn't care to be so intimate in public. In a car, no less. 

 

“I’m getting a good grip so that when I do this,” His voice is slightly strained as he lifts her lithe from from him, sliding over to take her former spot behind the wheel, “you won’t just fall over.” 

 

She’s half facing the back of the car now, knees pressed into the upholstery and looking a bit put off and disappointed. She needn’t worry. Ben is disappointed too that he had to put her aside. He’s only being a responsible adult for not only her, but for the good of the street because they really shouldn’t be parked right smack dab in the middle of the road. They’re lucky no one’s tried to come through yet. 

 

And not just because they’re blocking the way. 

 

"Such a _gentleman_."

 

How would one react to a young girl---young woman---straddling a grown man in the front of a car parked in the center of a street in broad daylight?

 

“Put your buckle on and pay attention like a good girl.”

 

Rey does as she’s told, adjusting in her seat and pulling the safety buckle across her chest. Ben watches every move, lingering on the way her spread thighs flatten against the seat, exposed to him because her dress has taken it upon itself to rest higher on her legs. 

 

“You going to show me your technique now that I’m not sitting on you?” 

 

Ben is prepared to focus. The last thing he wants is to send Rey off in this car or any car on her own without a well taught and well practiced set of driving skills. 

 

“Always keep your foot on the break when you’re shifting gears. Otherwise, the car will roll. Especially if you’re backing out going downhill.”

 

They’re rolling forward again, slow and steady until they reach the next stop sign and Ben is coming to a full stop, careful not to send her flying forward the way he did. He turns to look at her with the intention to make a point.

 

“And that is how you stop at a stop sign the right way.”

 

“Eyes on the road...who taught you to drive?” Rey scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. He sees the way her cheek twitches. She’s absolutely joking and wants to smile so he does it for her. 

 

“My father, actually. And in this car, too.” He was thirteen and eager to learn, eager to spend time with a father who only came around every so often. Ben was far too young even if he was tall enough to reach the pedals and see over the wheel at the same time. 

 

“Was he a good driver? Better yet...was he a good teacher?” It’s in her nature to want to press for more, to know things. 

 

It’s a rarity to hear of Ben’s family. He hardly talks about anyone more than his mother and grandparents, sometimes his strange uncle Lando. But never much of his father...Then again, Rey doesn’t speak much about hers either. It’s not a subject she cares to talk about so maybe he feels the same. 

 

“He liked to think he was the best driver there is. His teaching skills are different than mine, however. My uncle, Luke, finished off my training before I received my license.”

 

Han Solo was a cocky son of a bitch. And Ben feels no remorse in thinking so because he’s never met his father’s mother or really anyone other than Lando. Even he isn’t blood. 

 

“...Right. Make sure you look both ways before crossing or turning. Twice.” 

 

He’s not so meticulous himself, far less precise and a bit more ragged in his driving but not dangerously so. Though, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he taught Rey any bad habits that would lead her to get into an accident. 

 

“And what about distractions?” She asks.

 

Ben spares a glance at her as they cruise down Elm Avenue. “They’re bad. Don’t have them.”

 

“But what if I do?”

 

“You focus. You let it go.” He says. “What could possibly be so distracting while driving?” 

 

The brunette’s smirk goes undetected by Ben who is leading by example, eyes on the road. Tips of fingers dance across the seat all the way to his leg where they creep along the seam of his bunched up pocket, tracing stitches. He detects this, his body going rigid. Not in disgust, never disgust for his Rey. Her hand is so close to where he’d like it, where his own hand has twitched to be. He resists every time out of respect for Rey. 

 

“Rey...” He says softly, a warning for her to stop. 

 

But oh, Ben doesn’t want her to, how he desires in the early mornings, late nights, and every moment in between when he thinks of her to take hold of his aching cock and fuck it into his rough hand, to come in thick spurts and relieve himself of the heaviness, of the frustration. He never does and it leaves him even more frustrated.

 

Such a small touch, not nearly enough but too much while he’s driving a car. Ben’s words are forgotten. How could he focus? How could he let this go? He can’t, really. Not when her fingers are inching closer, squeezing into him a bit harder and she’s chewing on her lip in that way that drives him crazy and makes him want to sink his teeth into that pretty lip of hers himself and have a taste.

 

“Rey...not while I’m driving or I’ll...”

 

What will he do? He might crash, for one. Or he might do something irrational. 

 

She isn’t even hiding the fact that she’s doing this purposefully, to get some sort of reaction from him. A reaction he’s trying very hard not to give because it’ll end with her dress torn and sent back home to her mother covered in his teeth marks and thoroughly fucked. And then she’s leaning up and nipping at him with those pearly whites and his grip on the wheel might be enough to tear it straight off.

 

“Or _what_?”

 

“ _Rey_ ,” Ben growls her name this time and he doesn’t mean to, but he’s bringing the car to a stop just the way she had. Rey grabs his leg tighter when she jolts forward. 

 

“I will  pull this car off to the curb, take you over my knee and spank you.” He’s stern, dark eyes somehow blown darker. But his voice is not raised in the slightest. 

 

Rey looks intimidated, her hues wide and staring up at him through her lashes like she’s ashamed for doing something she wasn’t supposed to. Inside, she’s excited even if she’s mistaking it for fear. Something hot, something familiar, is pooling inside of her, causing her to press her thighs together.

 

“I’m sorry, Sir.” 

 

Fuck. His dick is stirring in his pants and that little apology isn’t helping. He has to control himself, to bring himself down. Her eyes are what he hones in on, the innocence that seems to plague them now rather than trouble. 

 

Ben sighs and runs a hand through his hair then over his face. Maybe that wasn’t the best choice of wording. He definitely shouldn’t threaten her like that. Now he feels bad and hopes he hasn't truly frightened her. 

 

“I’m sorry, Rey. I just...”

 

“No, Ben, I shouldn’t have been trying to get a rise out of you while you were driving.”

 

“I shouldn’t have threatened to punish you like that. I’m sorry.”

 

Rey considers this for a moment before she’s smiling again, he normal bright self. 

 

“Take me to get ice cream and I’ll forget it ever happened.”

 

Except that she won’t. Because when she lays in bed at night, thinking of Ben just down the hall, she’ll be wet and craving the feel of his large, warm hand against the swell of her pert ass, giving her a sensation she’s never quite desired to feel on purpose before. 

 

Ben's relief is great, a pressure gone from his chest. Anyone could see it in the smile upon his face. 

 

“You got it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading! I love seeing responses to each chapter and everyone's thoughts in general so be sure to leave lots of comments! This chapter and the next are more "filler" than anything because I have something planned for the plot of this that will kind of lead people to where they need to be in order for more to unfold. I hope y'all enjoy this one (and the next one!) nonetheless!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey thinks about that lesson Ben was going to teach her. And it isn't about driving...not entirely, at least.

Her ceiling is what she stares at in her dark bedroom, illuminated just slightly by the moon and stars and Mr. Jenkin’s terribly wonky looking Christmas lights that he hasn’t taken down in four years.

 

The faint taste of ice cream lingers on her tongue, sweet. Ben had taken her to a a parlor not too far out of the way, but one she hasn't been to since she was a child. He let her get whichever flavors she wanted and on top of that,  _toppings_. Whichever she wanted. Rey kept glancing at him with those eyes of hers, making sure he meant what he said. And each time, he nodded and encouraged her to order. All because she didn’t do such a terrible job at driving that day. Even if things did go a bit awry briefly.

 

Though, it had felt less as if she were being reprimanded in the car and more like she was being threatened with a good time. And Rey, the poor girl, knows what being reprimanded is like. When Ben growled her name and said he’d pull off to the side of the road to spank her for being such a naughty girl and distracting him while driving, Rey just about lost it. She had to keep herself from leaping back into his lap and kissing him silly which she has to do more than she'd care to admit.

 

She’s quite proud of herself for her self restraint because really, even if he does seem to want her as much as she wants him, who could tell how he’d have reacted? So, she saved herself some (possible) embarrassment unlike her mother who would have dove head first into the shallow pool of their relationship for a chance like Rey had. 

 

At least now that she’s in the safe space of her bedroom she can fantasize about what could have happened. 

 

Rey’s touched herself before, explored herself as any teenage girl does when her body is growing and changing. She’s let her fingers travel to the small peaks of her breasts that are much tinier than most girls she knows her age, to the little thatch of curls between her legs and the soft lips of her pink cunt. Rey's touched herself to the thought of Michael Snyder who has a stupidly attractive smile. But not so stupidly attractive that she’s able to climax from it. No, the pace and pressure of her fingers against the sensitive bud does not matter because no thought of Michael and no thought of what they’d do together is all that appealing when she takes the time to daydream about him. 

 

But the thought of Ben, and she has (and has had) many, is very much appealing. Especially with the new brain food he fed her today. Not the ice cream. She imagines now the two of them in a private room. His...him sitting on that chair behind his desk and beckoning her forward with two of his deliciously thick fingers. She’d come to him... _for_ him. 

 

She’s dressed in that skirt she likes so much, dressed in it because she thinks he’ll like it just as much as she does. The picture is pretty; her hips swaying with each step she takes, finally getting to him. He takes her by the hand, guiding her as close as she can be standing up, her knobby knees bumping against his. He looks to her with dark orbs, just shy of complete blackness, those same hands moving to push her skirt up her thighs until he reaches her panties. 

 

From her bed, she’s mimicking his movements. Although, her fingers are sliding down her bare stomach rather than up her thighs, stripped to nothing but underwear because it’s hotter than Hell. Still, she thinks of him, her fingers tease the seam of her panties before dipping beneath, finding that pearl of nerves. Rey sighs aloud into her empty bedroom, thick with humidity.

 

In her thoughts, Ben is digging the pads of his fingers into the flesh of her hips, hooking them over the panties and dragging them over her legs, letting them drop to the floor of his bedroom. They’re pure white, she decides in this reverie of hers that seems to be guided smoothly by her desire. 

 

He’s leading her to rest face first over his lap where there is plenty of room for her petite body. Rey wishes this could be more vivid, that she could feel everything from the fabric of his pants against her clammy palms or his own hands smoothing up the back of her creamy thighs, moving to the crease of her ass that is now exposed to him because somehow, her skirt has completely disappeared. But Rey doesn’t care too much about continuity, only that she sees him taking a handful of her ass, which is quite easy to do with paws as large as his, and squeezing. 

 

Nimble fingers work against her clit, in a constant switch of direction and speed in order to find something that works. It all seems to do fine and Rey believes it  has to do with the vision of Ben and how he’s kneading into her ass, leaning over and whispering things into her ear that is turned upward, her neck craned to the side and her cheek rests against his leg. 

 

“You’ve been so naughty, Rey. What did I say I’d do to you if you’re being naughty?” 

 

“Spank me,” Rey breathes aloud, responding to the image of Ben she’s created in her mind. 

 

He continues to work his fingers against her, humming in response. “That’s right, sweetheart.” 

 

God, she adores when he calls her that. Adores whenever he speaks, really. Because his voice is soft, deep, and somehow calms and excites her all at once. 

 

“Now tell me what you did to deserve this, Rey.”

 

She had smirked and danced her little fingers across the bench seat of his car without any other intention but to provoke something within him, maybe to get him to laugh or smile. She likes when he does both and at the same time in particular. 

 

“I distracted you while you were driving.” 

 

“Keep going.” He coaxes. 

 

Rey knows he didn’t react the way he did simply because he was afraid of crashing. She may be eleven years his junior and not yet graduated high school, but she isn’t stupid. Rey pays close attention to him, to the way he reacts to things subtle and not so subtle. She sees how he acts toward her mother and the difference in how he acts towards her. She felt the way he tensed and twitched at her touch, but the way his eyes darkened led her to continue because it’s just too enticing to watch a grown man fall apart at her (literal) fingertips. 

 

“I touched you...where I shouldn’t have.”

 

So close, just in the crease where his leg meets his hip, slightly buried into his inner thigh but never where, unbeknownst to Rey, he wanted her to touch him most.

 

“Oh no, baby. You didn’t touch me where you shouldn’t have. You _teased_ me.”

 

In her room, she’s trying her best to be silent, rubbing circles into herself, legs spread, knees bent and nipples pebbled, only responding to him in thought.

 

“Do I have to tell you what you did to me, little girl?” 

 

Rey’s nodding, eyes scrunched shut, hair static ridden as it brushes against her pillowcase. 

 

“You made daddy’s cock hard.”

 

That name...it leaves her choking for air, eyes flying open and something of a shameful feeling overcoming her. Rey’s cheeks are flushed, almost raw. They tingle and so does the rest of her body. Why would she think of such a thing? It’s wrong, isn’t it? Especially considering the situation she’s in right now, the situation she’s conjuring up in her head and masturbating to. But her fingers never cease, never remove themselves. Instead, Rey’s breath hitches because she’s doesn’t even recall her own father, ever using that term for him. It holds no meaning to her other than that of society’s.

 

And then Ben swoops in late this evening when no amount of darkness or lack of clothes can stop her from sweating like a pig and even if it’s wrong, the thrumming in her lower belly feels so very right. 

 

“And while I was driving, too. What did you want, Rey? For daddy to touch you?”

 

No, maybe that wasn’t her goal at the time. In actuality, Rey didn’t have a goal per say. She only want to play with him, to tease him. She thinks it worked. 

 

“Say it, baby. Say what you want.”

 

Rey obliges and not quietly, either. “Touch me.” 

 

Like a fever dream, Ben seems to have formed into an entity on his own, tutting her softly. 

 

“Touch me,  _what_ , Rey?”

 

Oh...oh he wants her to call him by that term. Rey’s thinking about it too, wondering what it’d sound like falling from between her lips. She mouths it first in the most minescule movement in fear that a higher power was watching her from above and shaking their head in disgust. 

 

She doesn’t stop. 

 

“ _Daddy_ ,” Rey whispers, lowly as to make sure no one will hear. “Touch me, daddy.” She says again, hips lifting from the bed because those words coming from her mouth have sent her climbing further toward a finish she craves.

 

“Daddy will, sweetheart. But it’ll be to teach  you a lesson. My greedy girl needs to learn that if she’s going to do naughty things, she’s going to get punished.”

 

Her clit is swollen, pulsing beneath her touch and beneath Ben’s phantom touch as his fingers dip between the gap of her thighs. Rey does the same, the pads of her fingers collecting the wetness that’s seeping from her pussy. He’d groan and he’d keep swiping, press his fingers into her tiny nub until she’s crying out his name so loud that the stray cats outside will get frightened and knock over the trashcans. And he'd marvel at just how wet she's become because she's doing just the same, never having felt so strongly that it's made her drip.

 

"You're _soaking_ for me, sweetheart. So wet for daddy..." He sounds breathless and Rey attributes that to her own breathlessness.

 

Rey imagines him making her count each rasp of his palm against her supple ass, the way it would make her jolt and grip onto his thigh, letting her nails bite into his pajama clad skin. It would sting, too. And she’d like every second of it, would arch her back upward as if to silently beg for more and he’d give it to her not because he’d like to punish her, but because she’s so needy and pliant and willing for his touch. 

 

At the end of it all, she’d be branded, the both of them satisfied. But Rey is still writhing in her bed and needing for more. 

 

What would he do next? Does it matter? She can hardly think straight now as is, panting softly, a free hand drawn upward to take hold of her pert breast while the other is being ground into by her sex.

 

Everything he says in her head is all she wants to hear and perhaps it’s sickening, perhaps it’s too much, but it’s bringing her to her first climax with the help of her fingers. Rey feels like she’s in a race. A natural competitor, she wants to finish first.  There is no warning sign, no flag to wave her down, to tell her it’s happening. Rey only knows that she’s so close to something and her heart is pouding...

 

But not nearly as hard as it does when the sound of footsteps comes from just beyond her door. Rey moves quicker than she ever has before, cocooning herself in the mess of sheets, comforters, pillows, and a baby blanket that is her bed. She looks as if she’s drowning, flailing her arms and legs and gasping as she makes to cover her practically naked form from anyone who may enter her room or come close to it.

 

Rey lays there, eyes shut so tightly that they may never open again if someone doesn’t pry them with a crow bar. She shakes and it’s ridiculous because it’s the middle of the summer and she’s got a pile of blankets over her and on top of it all, she’s aching between her legs from a different kind of heat. 

 

She could cry and then she hears the faucet running, shedding water for her. Rey can’t tell who it is in the bathroom, only that she’s startled beyond belief and she might need to borrow one of her mother’s anxiety pills. 

 

It feels like forever before whomever is in the room next to her is padding their way back to bed. Eventually, however, she is left in silence once more, torn between finishing what she started or slipping a night dress on and passing out to forget. But she doesn’t really want to forget this or Ben or what she wants to do to him, what she wants him to do to her. 

 

The footsteps just outside her door moments ago remind her that he’s only just down the hall. Rey wonders if he lays awake thinking of her, too. If he’s ever touched himself to the thought of her. If he’s ever considered taking a risk and meandering his way to her room to take her right in her own bed. Maybe he’s waiting for Rey to make the first move. She’s equal distance from him and he is her. 

 

Would he deny her what she’s denying herself in their reality? His warm, strong touch, his hair brushing against her cheeks, lips consuming her, cock buried deep inside of her virgin cunt and claiming her.

 

Out of respect for her and morality, probably. But if either of those things weren’t in question, then probably not. Rey likes to think that he’d fuck her right on his desk if she showed the interest. But if he wants for her the way she wants for him, then he’s denying himself and it’s really a shame because there’s no good reason that they shouldn’t be together if that’s the case.

 

Well, other than the fact that she’s still considered to be a minor. So yes, it’s propriety keeping him from her and her age keeping her from him. It’s a soothing thought to fall asleep to even if the next two months until she’s finally eighteen will be agonizing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hihihi!!! Thanks for tuning in again. I've already gotten majority of chapter 9 written for y'all. It's a little more plot driven but this one has a hint of what's to come for Rey and Ben (((::: As always, comments are always appreciated!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey and her mother take a trip to church with the Pava ladies (love me some Jessika. how about you guys?) Ben isn't too fond of the news Lydia springs on him at dinner.

Rey has never truly found solace in church like most have. It’s quiet and peaceful and a place of no judgement even though she’s almost positive that majority of the people sitting in the pews around her are some of the most snobbish, judgmental people ever. Hypocrites, really. 

 

Rey glances to her mother; a prime example. Then she’s looking at two girls from her school who hate her guts because she stood up for for someone they preyed on. And now they’re here… _praying_. But God forgives all, doesn’t he? Just where does he draw the line and allow for the Devil to take over?

 

She doesn’t detest religion. She believes in a higher power and she’s open to knowing just what the secrets of this universe are. But Rey simply cannot stand to be forced into sitting through a mass that very few take very little from. Of course, she doesn’t compile each person here into a category with her mother or Betty and Veronica or even Mrs. Evans (who her mother is in a book club with who has something to say about everyone and everything other than the book itself).

 

No, Rey sees people like Annie, an elder woman with fire engine red curls who’s worked in the diner for years. Who refuses to let anyone call her Mrs. and always does her best. Who sympathizes with the homeless people in her neighborhood, bringing them leftover food from her work place, who is one of the kindest souls in this town. 

 

A woman with the voice of an angel sings a hymn to them from the front of the church, the priest bowing his head in reverence, mouthing lyrics he’s likely heard a million and one times before. The whole lot follow in his lead as if he’s their shepherd and not God himself. They sing off key, in whispers. and not at all. Rey sings softly and in tune unlike her mother beside her who’s words are coming out in breaths and not in sync with the song. 

 

To her left is Jessika who’s peeling a piece of her nail from her finger. Rey doesn’t know whether to laugh or pay no mind. If she doesn’t want to be lectured, the latter would be her best bet. Though, one can never be too sure with Lydia Kenobi.

 

Maybe the shot of  _Christ’s blood_  will give her the will to be kind. Then again, she never really was a happy drunk. 

 

It happened again this past Friday evening, Rey was called home from Jessika’s house at nearly one in the morning to come home and aid her ill mother. Rey wasn’t furious, but she pities the woman beside her who is so dependent on a bottle of wine, or whatever she gets her hands on these days, to help her. Doesn’t she realize it’s only hurting her? 

 

Rey supposes not. And if she does know, then she’s wishfully thinking that the next time will be different, that she won’t end up crawling up the stairs and into the bathroom a sweaty, unbalanced, mess.

 

Ben was the one to call the Pava’s, to pick her up from their home in the early hours of the morning. The car ride was not fun, not like it could have been or should have been. She sat silently, curled into a ball and staring out the window into the night, the moon shone through the trees. They spoke very little, the girl embarrassed and Ben fully aware but not having the words to make things better. 

 

He explained to Rey the next morning, while he made her his signature eggs and bacon, that he didn’t want to take her away from her friend, that Lydia is a grown woman who should be able to care for herself. Better yet, that she should be able to know what her body can and can’t handle—to be responsible. 

 

Rey has learned that only Lydia will be able to help herself in the end. Because no amount of coddling that Rey or anyone else has done has amounted to a thing. It’s only enabled her, given her the security she needs. 

 

Yet, she is still so insecure. 

 

So maybe Rey is like her mother in that sense, unable to say no when it comes down to it, always hoping for a different outcome when in reality, deep down in this harsh reality she’s trying not to fall victim to, she knows it’s a matter that ignorance will not solve nor will it always bring them bliss. 

 

It’s difficult to focus on the sermon, on father Gabriel’s sullen voice. The old bastard (not her words) is nearing his mid nineties and still preaching on behalf of the Lord. Rey has to commend him. Though, as tiresome as it is to listen, something does strike her, causing her to lift her head from the fascinating sight of twiddling thumbs and pay closer attention to his words rather than her own thoughts or anyone else around them. 

 

“The people we cross paths with in this lifetime are a test to our true selves whether it be a child waving hello, a homeless person asking for money, a teacher, a drunk or drug addict. We become who we are meant to be through them. Because we could be them. We may have already been them. Or are them.”

 

Rey thinks that maybe he’s experienced every single one of those and then some. And it’s people, their influence, that mold this world and society. It’s why Betty and Veronica think they’re the greatest thing since sliced bread and why her mother is a drunk…because their interactions with others have led them to this place. 

 

Then the priest is quick to add something that Rey is left thinking herself. 

 

“But we always have a choice. To say hello, to give spare change, to listen and learn, to help. The same as those people do.” 

 

Yes, her mother does have a choice. And she keeps choosing wrong every single time. How many chances do people get before they’re stuck with the consequences choices they’ve made? 

 

How many times will Rey cave in and care for her mother and offer her a shoulder to lean on even though it’s only doing the both of them bad? Is it so wrong to want to help her mother? 

 

Much like her earlier question; how many times does God forgive his children before he stops?

 

She told her mother not to make her drinking Rey’s business anymore. But they seem to have fallen right back into it all the same. At the end of the day, at too young an age, in the early mornings, and her late teens, it is her business. 

 

Green hues flicker to the woman at her side who seems to look down, to avoid the gaze of a priest who is not truly looking at her. Lydia feels shame in this sacred house. Even if it’s fleeting. 

 

She shifts, straightening as the aged voice of father Gabriel sounds in the room. 

 

“Do make sure to sign up for our annual Young Lights Retreat. It’s going to be a joyous two weeks full of nature and learning more about the word of God. Blessed day to you all.”

 

They join in in singing the closing hymn, bringing an end to the service for this Sunday. Below the church in the gathering hall is where Mrs. Pava, Jessika, Lydia, and Rey convene, the two older women pulling out their checkbooks (which Lydia is too quick to do considering how often she complains about her lack of money). Rey and Jessika watch on as two weeks of their summer are taken from them and given to their Lord and Savior.

 

Summer won’t quite as infinite as they once thought.

 

“At least we’ll be together.” Jessika says, looking on the brighter side of things. 

 

“At least I’ll be away from my mother.”

 

“Don’t forget about your man, though.” Rey sends her a look, eyes narrowed. Jess snickers. She knows that look all too well.

 

“He isn’t  _mine_ , Jess. And it’s only two weeks.”

 

Only two weeks, but she’ll think of him with every second that passes, longing to see his face and hear his voice. She supposes that with a week before the retreat to spare, she’ll be able to (hopefully), soak up as much of Ben as she can before she’s away. 

 

Rey wonders just how he’s going to react. Not only will she be away from him, but he’ll be left with only Lydia as company when he’s not off tutoring the children. If she knows Ben, he’ll end up offering to stick around longer to teach them French as well, probably insisting that it’s best to have a multitude of languages under ones belt.

 

She doesn’t think he’ll beg her not to leave, though. Rey just doesn’t see that happening. 

 

It isn’t the first year she’s attended the stay away camp. It’s a camp, not a retreat. They play, the make silly macaroni crafts, and they talk about Jesus. She’s never felt more of a child in a grown person’s body. 

 

“Maybe that Poe guy will be there from last year. Remember? He’s the boating instructor!” 

 

Rey remembers. How could she not? Poe Dameron, boating extraordinaire with his perfect dark curls and sultry eyes. Jessika has never fancied someone so much in her life and it shows because she’s blushing at the mention of him and Jess…she’s more one to make others blush.

 

The girl only simpers at her friend who is growing suspicious because Rey only seems to smirk like that when she’s scheming (or reaching for Ben’s inner thigh in the semi-private setting of his car).

 

“What’s that look for, Rey? I’m just bringing up Poe.”

 

Pink lips purse and shoulders shrug. 

 

“Are you going to ride in his boat?”

 

Jessika quirks a brow, the Queen of dirty insinuations off put by Rey's. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

 

“It’s a simple question, Jess.”

 

“You mean something else.” 

 

Rey’s face shifts, feigning Innocence as she opens her mouth. “I don’t mean anything by it. I’m only asking if you plan to try and catch a ride on his boat. Or maybe you want him to teach you a lesson in riding his boat.”

 

“Why don’t you just come out and say what you really mean you dope?” 

 

Jess's olive skin is somehow changing hues. She is a chameleon girl, not for protection from her surroundings, simply just shifitng shades, now redder than the nail polish chipping off of Rey’s fingernails.

 

Rey hardly represses a wild grin and thinks this is payback for all of the times she’s tried flustering her.  

 

“I won’t say it…not in the Lord’s house.” 

 

Jess rams into her side, nose crunched up as she laughs, slipping her arm through Rey’s. “Then you’ll tell me as soon as we blow this Popsicle stand.”

 

“You should definitely go confess to father Gabriel before we leave for calling me a dope.”

 

“I’ll do that as soon as you admit to your sinful innuendo while in church.”

 

The girls playfully bicker, their mother’s eyeing them to follow along outside to their cars as they’ve finished sealing their fates (for two weeks, at least). Rey’s biting her tongue all the way down the church steps. God definitely doesn’t want to hear what she’s about to whisper in Jess’s ear and Rey DEFINITELY doesn’t want God hearing it either. 

 

“By boat I totally meant _cock_.” 

 

Her friend's eyes nearly bulge from her pretty head. Nothing is more scandalous to Jessika than Rey's dirty mouth and the rare use of her gutter-ridden mind.

 

Her surprise would have been incredibly satisfying if only she wouldn't open her mouth and release anything more than a gasp in response.

 

“Reynada Jo Kenobi-Solo!” 

 

Rey freezes, nearly tripping over her own two feet and then Jessika’s on top of that, flabbergasted at not only what she’s said but how loudly she’s said it. Rey is so worried that her mother will hear that she can’t even enjoy how the name sounds.

 

“Shut up!” She whispers frantically. Jess chortles.

 

“Oh right, _sorry_. Reynada Jo _Solo_. No hyphenation.” She rephrases as if to appease Rey, but the both of them know it’s to poke fun. 

 

“You’d better hope my mother doesn’t hear you.” 

 

“Why because SHE wants to be the next Kenobi-Solo?”

 

“Jess!” 

 

All the while, Mrs. Pava and Lydia are chatting as if they’ve heard nothing out of the ordinary, their daughters mosey on behind them. If Lydia heard, she’d have a cow. Or ten. Probably ten because she’s melodramatic. And then she’d scold Rey on the way home for inappropriate behavior. She’s never really taken it as far as to bring up matters of she and Ben. Because it’s just so impossible to believe he’d want a child over a grown woman—out of the question. Unheard of!

 

Rey is quite glad they’ve never gotten on to that subject. It’s far too difficult to sort out despite how simple things really are; Lydia wants Ben, Ben does not want Lydia…but rather her daughter. To Ben, the notion really isn’t that hard to perceive. But for someone like Lydia, it’s easier to play pretend. 

 

_____

 

Rey is testing her hand at the art of frying chicken this evening, Lydia at her side putting her muscles to work and smashing potatoes. They’re getting along, believe it or not. Although, working alongside one another and not speaking a word while the radio plays doesn’t really count as getting along, does it? Still, it’s certainly a strange experience for Rey; being in the same vicinity as her mother and not bickering. She can’t speak for Lydia but that doesn't mean she isn't curious as to what's going on in that head of hers. Rey never really can tell. The woman spends too much time putting on a show and when she does eventually crack, she's slurring her words and jumbling her thoughts.

 

For Ben, it’s an interesting sight albeit, nail biting. No one can truly say when the dam will burst but he's trying to enjoy the peace and quiet while he can. He’s glancing in from the back porch where he’s busied himself with reading over and correcting essays of the twins he’s teaching.

 

Yes, essays. He doesn’t care if they’re just children. They need to be pushed and they’re doing just fine if Ben has any say in the matter. They’re diligence makes him proud and come tomorrow when he hands them back their work and gives a progress report to their parents, they too will be proud. And the children, well, they'll be more than prepared when the time comes for school to start up again. The first of September is he's not mistaken.

 

There's surely enough time left to spend with Rey while she's on her summer vacation and perhaps she'll need assistance with schoolwork. He sighs, adjusting his glasses and bidding the thought of taking up this young girl's time away even though it will return with little effort from Ben to keep it back. To force himself not to think of Rey might as well be to force himself not to breathe. 

 

Well, if he ever does need to stop thinking about her, then perhaps suffocation is the only way to get his brain to quit. 

 

"Dinner's ready." 

 

Her voice causes him to lift his attention from the essays, craning his neck back to find her leaning in the doorway with a rag draped over her shoulder and what looks to be brownie batter upon her freckled cheek. 

 

"I hope you're ready to try my chicken. Don't worry," Rey grins, "it's fully cooked." But then she grimaces and Ben raises a brow at the sudden change in her face. "Mum says it actually might be a little burnt."

 

Ben peels the glasses from the bridge of his nose, shaking his head as stands from his chair, the smile that Rey adores more than she should donned by his plush lips. "Better overcooked than under cooked. I'm sure it's delicious." He makes his way toward the dining room, to her, stopping just as her bare toes brush against his own shoes and lifts his free hand to swipe the chocolate from her cheek. She only stares up at him with her doe eyes and parted lips, not with curiosity, nor fear, with what looks to be _awe_ , with baited breath. He wonders what's going through her mind. So much so that Ben doesn't even think to check for Lydia (or consider her util this very moment). She seems to always be watching. And if she isn't watching, she's going to be. 

 

He's utterly loath to remove his hand from her silky skin but he compensates for the loss when he wipes his chocolate covered thumb on the rag upon her shoulder to which her vision flies. 

 

"Oh---" Rey realizes with a soft chuckle, noting the substance staining the white fabric. "I made brownies, too. Those I didn't burn..that I'm aware of."

 

Ben too chuckles at his silly girl, reaching forward to place his hand on the small of her back and lead in inside just as her mother pops her head out of the kitchen. Ben already knows she's going to announce what Rey's already said.

 

"Dinner, Benjamin! I hope you're hungry. Although," She begins, heels clicking against the wooden floor as she places a steaming pot of mashed potatoes on the dining room table, "Rey has much to learn about cooking." Lydia's beady eyes fixing Rey with a look of disdain. 

 

"Perhaps she needs a teacher, then. One that knows what they're doing in the kitchen." His defense is sly and he'd be surprised is the dim woman picks it up at all. 

 

Rey takes her seat, something of a smirk playing on her mouth that does not go unnoticed to Ben as he seats himself across from her as always. If he tries hard enough, and if she is silent, he's able to zone Lydia out and focus on Rey, imagining that it's just the two of them having dinner. He fantasizes and it's simple enough; himself, Rey, alone together. 

 

"At least I tried." Rey shrugs, plating a piece of well crisped chicken and then a large scoop of potatoes. 

 

"I hope you're going to choose a culinary arts class for one of your electives when you go back to school." Lydia says, fork and knife in hand as she saws through the chicken. Well, she makes it look as though she's having a difficult time. But the chicken isn't as hard to cut as she makes it seem. Even Ben seems to notice, easily slicing a piece and giving it a first try. 

 

 

"I was thinking I'd continue learning French." Rey counters, sending a look Ben's way. The corners of his lips turn upward as he chews.

 

Neither of them see the way Lydia looks between the both of them, as if she were a phantom watching from the shadows.

 

"French won't teach you a thing." She replies shortly.

 

Rey's eyes narrow, brows knitting together as she slowly averts her vision from Ben to her mother. "I'd beg to differ. I'm pretty sure taking French will teach me oh...I don't know. French. Another language."

 

Lydia is taken aback, blush caked cheeks even more flushed. Rey's taken her comment and made her look the fool and in front of Ben, no less. Meanwhile, Ben already knows that the short tempered woman is just about ready to burst. 

 

"You know damn well that isn't what I meant! I don't think you need French. You're already fluent in disrespect in the English language, Reynada."

 

The brunette tenses in her seat and Ben, if he listens closely enough, could hear the cranking of her jaw, the grinding of her teeth. Rey thinks to this morning during church and recalls how hypocritical her mother is, once encouraging her to learn the Language of Love and now changing her mind. And now, because she's embarrassed, it's of great importance that Rey be brought down as well, leaving Ben between a mother and daughter in a pointless quarrel that occurs far too much for his liking. 

 

Aren't they sick of it? It seems Rey is. And it seems Lydia feeds off of the anger and the belittling of others in order to make herself feel better. She's a classic bully and quite frankly, Ben thinks he won't even see this among his own students who will be much younger than herself. It's pitiful and he pities not Rey, but Lydia. Rey can fight her own battles even if he wishes to strike Lydia down for her. But Lydia...this woman, this childish excuse of a woman, is weak. And eventually, she'll strike herself down. That is, if Rey doesn't beat her to it.

 

And with the look in her eyes, one he's seen few times before, she may not make it much longer. 

 

"You only want me to learn to cook because you believe women belong in the kitchen. Welcome to a new decade, mother. I have ambition beyond slaving over a stove unlike _you_."

 

"That's it! Go to your room, you little brat! Go pack your things---"

 

Rey stands not because she's been commanded, but because she's done with this argument and no longer wants to be in such close proximity to this witch. The rag that found a home upon her shoulder is thrown to the ground, Rey stomping across the floor so hard that she may leave indents in the shape of her feet wherever they touch. 

 

Ben is already standing as well, possibly the most exasperated out of the three of them. Lydia's order is irrational and wrong and Ben will fight it! And if she doesn't let up on this insanity, then he'll gladly find a new place to live and bring Rey with him. He won't have her made homeless by her own mother and simply sit by while it happens. This is hardly his business but he will make it his business, make Rey his business.

 

"Now, Lydia, there's no need for Rey to pack her things. You can't kick her out of the house---!"

 

"Not yet, I can't...but lucky for us, she's going away for a few weeks." She too stands from her chair, moving behind her to the liqueur stand and pouring herself a generous glass of whiskey. 

 

His hulking form slouches, face contorting into that of confusion. All the while, Lydia is working down the alcohol, numbing anger and anxiety with each gulp. Ben is fixated on her but for no positive reason. He can't even put his finger on just how he's feeling right now.

 

"Going away?" He finally repeats.

 

"Hmm," Another glass is poured. "Little miss Rey is heading on a church retreat next week. She'll be gone for two weeks and it's going to be absolute bliss." Lydia could groan in pleasure and she nearly does, the slightest of sound coming from within her. Ben's stomach churns and it really isn't because of the chicken. 

 

"Why---when was this decided?" 

 

"She's been going every year since first grade. It's tradition. This is the last year she's able to attend, unfortunately." He detects melancholy in her words and can't fathom why she detests her own daughter the way she does. Especially because it's Rey, intelligent, witty, funny, beautiful Rey. 

 

"I see." He himself is a bit despondent but in true Lydia fashion, it slips right past her. 

 

"Oh, Ben, we'll have the house to ourselves. You'll be able to get your work done without her distracting you. We'll be able to have civil adult conversations at dinner. Maybe we'll go out to dinner! And dancing, too. I've got quite a few friends who are just dying to meet you."

 

The man hasn't the energy to reject her. Even if he did, even if he spat in her face and told her she was the most dense human being he's ever met and that they would never be together, she probably still wouldn't get it through her head. 

 

He forgets dinner not long after the news breaks, the pit in his stomach not from hunger but from a mixture of feelings that leave him physically affected. His room calls and he answers, stealing a longing glance at Rey's closed door. He wants to check in on her, to comfort her, to...maybe suggest that they leave this house together and find a new place to live where Lydia isn't welcome. 

 

No, the idea is foolish and wrong even if it does feel like the right thing to do. 

 

He's got one week until she's gone for two and as he sits at his desk scribbling nonsense onto a piece of paper, he can't help the overwhelming dread of two weeks passing without Rey around and with her mother _everywhere_. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry for the long wait. Life just got in the way! But I do have majority of this story mapped out. It's just a matter of cranking out chapters for y'all. I hope you guys enjoyed this. Thank you for reading and I adore your comments and kudos<3

**Author's Note:**

> Hiyaaaa thank y'all for reading! This story isn't going to have too much of a plot. It's really just intended to be a love story and I'm just kinda going with the flow. So I'm definitely up for suggestions or if anyone wants to see anything in particular! Make sure to leave comments and let me know what you think! <3


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